God of the Machine

by Elijah Stephens

  “But that’s within unregulated markets,” said Merrick. “Where saturation ends up exploiting a product until it’s gone. That’s why mankind as a hunter became a low-level extinction event on this planet. Corruption in conglomerates would require an ego so large that its own weight would topple their efforts.”

  “That’s what we’re hoping for,” the Director replied. “Arrogance from our prey. If not, the Africa Corps takes the fall and the real traitors remain hidden behind global trade immunities. If you’re right then we have nothing to worry about, after we secure the Prototype.” They took a sharp turn between office buildings and pulled into a service garage through the rear entrance. “This is our temporary base of operations.”

  “I expect good health benefits working for this outfit,” Kyle joked. “Especially if I’m going to be attaching tracers to mercenary transports.”

  “Funny that you should mention that,” said Odin. “Because Rowan has brought a few people back to life.”

  The smile dropped from Arkane’s face as they pulled into the makeshift tactical center. Beside nondescript vans and backup androids, scientists were working on complicated technical upgrades. An aging Indian doctor was seeing to the cybernetics of the men, making sure that their robotic limbs were in top shape and their weapons were set for the parameters of the upcoming mission.

  The Director started the introductions for his biomechanical unit and genosapien recruits. He motioned to the All-American with a crewcut, who tried to remain patient while technicians altered the implants covering most of his body.

  “Here’s the head of our Strike Team, Lieutenant Markham Loew. The man who looks like Buster Keaton on a bad day is Baron Orkosk. The wrinkled erudite Indian working on him is the Doc and his protégé is that skinny fellow synchronizing the tracer-relay, Vassil Ganz. He’s the one you should ask about your powers,” Odin told Kyle.

  The gaunt scientist immersed in his screen’s light waved without looking up. On the table, virtual diagrams were placed over a digital map marking the known safehouses of Eperiam Townsend. Apparently the plan was the same no matter where the ambush was unleashed.

  “Our spybots show the Engineer in-transit to his next hideout,” Markham reported in a military tone. “They’ve witnessed Africa Corps recon doing the same.”

  “Keep me updated,” said the Director. “We’ll move when they do. Right now we should go over the mission.”

  * * * * *

  Kyle watched the Sun falling into the west as he sat on a ledge, one hundred and eighty-stories above the street. Lines of pedestrians below looked like a hyper-civilized ant farm. When he looked up, a silver gleam reflected off the tower stretching into the sky with the other imposing buildings in the Downtown District. He received a call through his comm-piece and checked his DeluxeVision binoculars for the update sent to all members of the Strike Team.

  “Townsend is in place with six bodyguards who look like they could play Ultra League Football,” Orkosk relayed. “And preliminary scans say their implants far exceed the legal ratio to still be considered human. These are cyborganic beings, not even real people technically.”

  Kyle disliked the moral hypocrisy of the arbitrary designation made in the International Edict of 2067 which clarified the acceptable ratio of human-robot singularity before an entity was considered to be primarily android and not neosapien, a further distinction after eugenics programs began modifying the genetic structure as a part of a normalization strategy to conquer the worst diseases. Since technology was growing exponentially, it required less devotion at the hands of humans to mold their own fate.

  Individuality reigned as it fractured a species which had managed to rise above the laws of nature. While basking briefly in the accomplishment, the explosion of robotic sciences spread out from Japan in the middle of the twenty-first century, and another question of identity was created. Kyle observed the population divide themselves physically, followed psychologically with the lack of substantial interaction when most of their daily dialogue was with technology in one form or another.

  People were attached to their own creations, investing what was becoming a smaller fraction of actual consciousness by forgetting that the simulacrum of androids was merely a fabrication. It was easier to leave responsibility to an autopilot, like sending children from nannybots at home to Common Knowledge Teaching Units at school, where a prescribed lesson plan was brought to them through a worldwide compulsory medium. For adults, handheld computing devices became permanently cerebrum enhanced, with the assistance of artificial life taking over mundane tasks and liberating humans into more focused intellectualism.

  Culture in itself was relegated to a separate market altogether and children learned about it as if studying ancient history. Efficiency was off the charts and success was guaranteed no matter the effort, but the hardworking masses went home for sex with Concubine droids because real relationships required compromise and constructive input. People saw it as having the same effect in the release of stress without the waste of time, since marriage had become an obsolete institution even moreso than religion. Aside from an impulse to cling to archetypal ethics and mythology, the trend of mechanization was uniform.

  The closest sections of the metropolis were packed against the Downtown District like plants growing towards the light, and the speed of information in the business-saturated area made the reconstruction in Montebello seem like the suburb that it was. Swarmbots were covering new structures day and night, building them to pre-set human designs. From a distance they looked like insects.

  Kyle was reminded of a floating data file on the mainline that reported animal attacks in the encroaching woodlands. Environmentalists had done such a good job of fostering growth and making the surrounding forest impervious to seasonal wildfires that armies of robots had to maintain the boundaries of civilization. When conservationists became expansionists, the wilderness of the Inland Empire was modified through innovative weather systems. Like most emerging technology, it was born out of a military project that combined field-laser weaponry to alter oxygen density and control high pressure systems in the valley.

  Darwinian Germinologists at the South Pepperdine extension took the seeds of similar climate greenery and created hybrids with indigenous plant life. When it got out of control, their mistakes were never made public. The PermaWinter territory a few hundred miles to the north and the wasteland deserts to the east kept an insular attitude to Los Angeles County, even if raised highways connected them to San Diego, where they still remembered the tidal currents that swallowed Baja into the sea.

  Arkane looked over the Marina Harbor to a geodesic dome shining on the horizon, the home of an expanded community that had migrated from eastern parts of the city. He walked along the wide ledge, looking all the way to Long Beach and the manufacturing industry that was amplified by farmlands extending their harvest further from the coast. The soil was some of the most arable in the hemisphere and ripe for the cheap labor of terra droids paid for by taxpayers. The demand was endless for organic sustenance in the ravaged territories of Southeast Asia, as well as for the 9.7 billion humans inhabiting the cities still growing after the century of storms.

  His earpiece clicked on and an authoritative mechanical voice spoke. “Lothian transports are about to arrive, be ready in three minutes. Africa Corps recon is in position to infiltrate the Engineer’s lab. When the rest arrive, we’ll need you on your mark.”

  Kyle went to his pre-designated spot and opened a suitcase. He looked through his DV binoculars, scanning the nearest rooftops across the street. There were snipers on each building, set in two-man teams to annihilate the Africa Corps if anything went wrong and Eperiam Townsend was no longer under their control.

  The shooters had bipod mounted rifles with internal gyroscopes to balance the recoil of mod specific rail-guns that could spit successive lines of conductive aluminum projectiles by
using electromagnetism as a propellant. Bionic implants gave them eagle-eye capabilities, which also meant that they needed a spotter to take in a much wider frame of reference.

  “To avoid giving away their position with ambient signals, the Strike Team will go radio dark before the ambush begins. Snipers are ready with secondary objectives should we need them to shoot trackers onto the transports. This will only occur if you should fail, since they are easily detectable by subsonic localizers.”

  The term ‘radio dark’ revealed that Odin must have been running the show, commanding from somewhere close and disseminating orders through intermediary closed-circuit AI. He used archaic language occasionally, but his presence indicated bravery as someone who wanted to lead from the front. The Director included in the virtual debriefing that the Africa Corps had attained vehicles through known rail-runners, who transported stolen rail-guns into the wasteland, along with anything else corrupt cops sold from their underground confiscation warehouses.

  The mercs were bringing two armored transports to divert any reviews of satellite video logs. Odin believed that they would take Eperiam Townsend to the harbor before traveling to wherever the Prototype was being kept. The expanded docks at the Marina were the least trafficked area for humans in the entire city, and security androids could be shorted out by using blindmines on surveillance without rupturing the mechanical infrastructure, as with electromagnetic pulse-bombs.

  Kyle pulled out a coil of synthetic fiber webbing and attached it to a central core with a patented substance called GeckoGrip adhesion that could stick to any surface, even underwater. He hooked the line to a notch on his havoc-suit body armor, which was flexible but provided meager protection to the limbs, since most agents had exoshell armored implants. He waited patiently and contemplated how different his new job was compared to chasing cyborgs through the Flesh Scene.

  A heavy breeze picked up and washed through downtown as the sky lit with omnipresent blue chased by the darkness to the east. From his suitcase, Kyle retrieved tracers to place on both Africa Corps units, but he had been told not to bother bringing a weapon since he wouldn’t be there to join the assault. As an auxiliary agent, he was also warned that using his OmniField projector would be pointless because Lothian’s mercenaries used A-Fid.

  “Be ready,” reported the AI. “They are currently three blocks to the east and our Strike Team is in position. Radio dark in ten seconds.”

  When silver vans pulled onto the block, Arkane watched through his DVs as both transports opened and two dozen men in city camouflage came out holding shoulder-mounted rocket launchers and heavy rail-rifles. A few took defensive positions while the rest hurried between the buildings in formation.

  “They have cold rockets,” he told the Assistant. “Tell the Strike Team that their heat-sig countermeasures are useless.”

  “The team went silent, they can only speak among themselves on a hypersonic frequency. Be ready to drop in.”

  Kyle yelled over the hissing wind, but his voice barely registered.

  “Negative, hold until you’re given an order.”

  He leapt from the skyscraper and dropped quickly enough to go unnoticed by the waiting mercs. They had scanners constantly surveying the area, but the configuration was set to delineate the mechanics in spybots and local TraffiCops. His attached line became taut above the first vehicle, and after he disconnected himself, the wire retracted automatically. He set a tracer and waited for the light to signal its first transmission, then he leaned over the edge and watched the men pacing nervously below. When he saw an opening, he jumped to the other van and set the second tracer.

  Arkane dropped to the ground and tackled a straggler, pulling the comm-piece from the guard’s ear. With vibrations pouring from his kinetic fall, he threw the man against the transport and busted his cybernetic spine. The loud impact rocked the metal frame and he collapsed with sparks shooting from his injuries. A second soldier came to see what happened, and a whip of air passed Kyle with a sniper’s bullet that tore through the merc’s mechanical chest.

  The sound of battle broke over the airwaves and gunfire echoed through the streets. Arkane rolled under the nearest van, then tuned the frequency on his stolen comm-piece to the OIS Strike Team. He informed them about the presence of cold rockets, that used hydrogen peroxide in a chemical reaction with metal to propel explosive-tipped devices, completely avoiding countermeasures that located enemy armaments based upon heat-signature readouts.

  “They have Eperiam Townsend!” Markham reported through distorted static. “Setting down blanket fire!”

  After a wave of explosions rolled through the alley, a thick white cloud poured out with mercs who came running to the rear transport pushing a hunched man in a labcoat. With a sudden surge they sped away, leaving Kyle lying in the road. He stood up and entered the dissipating fog outside Townsend’s hideout, where bionic limbs were strewn everywhere, more like a multi-vehicle accident than remnants of androids.

  Through the dust he saw that the Engineer’s bodyguards had been neutralized by the Africa Corps, who left magnetic discs attached to the center of their armored chestplates after superheating through on contact. The position of the OIS assault left their agents unguarded to the cold rockets, but luckily their androids had switched to secondary objectives and used themselves as shields to protect the humans. Where smoke was bellowing from the lab, there was strained coughing and robots that survived the damage were removing the debris from a semi-conscious Lieutenant Loew.

  The Director’s words were then transmitted through the Assistant for the entire team. “The Africa Corps units have split up. Both transports are being tracked and scout-spies have been deployed for surveillance. Consider this mission a success.”

  * * * * *

  Kyle turned over in the dark and reached for the lamp.

  “It’s early morning, Agent Arkane. The Director would like to see you,” said the disembodied voice alarm.

  “I thought I’d be free of this stuff by avoiding cochlear implants,” he groaned.

  “You should know that the clairvoyant who foresaw the creation of your team has arrived from Beijing. There is no auxiliary unit anymore, you are all Strikers now.”

  He scratched his head. “You mean Odin, the twitchy medic, and a clairvoyant instigator? Give me twenty minutes...”

  “The psychic female agent of Diplomatic Security.”

  He smiled as he threw off the covers. “You haven’t read my file, have you?”

  * * * * *

  Outside the dormitory of the Los Angeles Office of International Security, synthetic marble surfaces were being constantly polished by small sanibots. During the investigation at Eperiam Townsend’s hideout, after the organically uninjured but otherwise crippled officers were airlifted by Special Police escort, Kyle stayed to make sure that the droids used for cleanup and documentation were functioning properly.

  The Engineer’s portable laboratory was full of scrap compared to materials used by the government, but the workshop contained stacks of digitized notes and the curious tinkering of a Black Market god. The Robotics Division spent more time chasing the man’s ideas than the product of his work, since bootleg dissections of the carefully guarded secrets of slave-circuitry were revealing First World Government restricted information.

  The RD stayed busy keeping the flood contained, and their work would be much easier without Townsend free to apply his trade. The potential problem of his talent becoming the weapon of global terrorists was the concern of the Internal Affairs Division of the OIS, at least that’s what the group carved like stone said when they restricted Kyle from the scene. He knew that they were paving the way for the Federal Logistics Department, who all had degrees in Kinematics.

  The treasure their level of intellect was driven to uncover was located in the Engineer’s models. To them, standing in such a room was like finding wall-to-wall gold. They were from an
Earth-centered NASA facility, where the boundaries of artificial intelligence were being tested for extra-terrestrial colonization, which had become the most urgent field of research following the chaos of the century of storms. The men were driven beyond rabid obsession, working in hidden societies of brilliant technicians. Their unit was probably waiting to take over since Odin first got clearance.

  At OIS headquarters the following morning, Kyle discovered that their mission had been a quiet success. Odin was in the lounge, speaking to a striking woman who was dressed professionally in clothes for an active agent. Down the hallway, he heard his name being called and found Markham on his back on a workbench. His mechanical injuries were extensive and he was sprawled out on a table for repairs, with Rowan observing from the doorway while Vassil Ganz monitored mechanical arms that fixed the Lieutenant’s broken cybernetics.

  “I wanted to thank you,” he said, in little pain despite the damage. “A few missions that rough and I may as well join the Ultra League.”

  “A lot of ex-agents do,” Vassil said in a dry tone.

  “Who’s controlling the robotic limbs?” Kyle wondered.

  “The Doc is in another wing of the building. This is a technique he’s innovating called LDE, or long distance examination,” said Rowan, who as a medic was eagerly engaged by advanced science. “We’re all special, but the Doc’s power is astral projection. He has metaphysical sight. This coupled with a livewire feed over any local circuit, and he can perform surgery from New York if he needs to.”

  “And he will need to,” Odin said as he joined them with the female agent. “I’d like you all to meet Cassandra Madison from the Diplomatic Security Agency. She’s on temporary transfer to us since the DSA is also a subdivision of the International Security Council.”

  She pushed her satin red hair out of her eyes and smiled in a coy way, giving everyone a subtle glance. “Nice to meet you all.”