“And if they’re so bad I should side with the robots? That machine... You do know that a night of knives has already happened here? That there are members of Congress who are no longer themselves? You are aware of this, aren’t you?”
I shake my head, though I know this to be true.
She seems to be pained by a thought. “Do you know what happened to Ben or Kurt?”
“No,” I say. Better not to say anything. But my face must have given me away.
“Liar.”
“How?”
“You know very well what happened.”
I’m undercutting myself. “I think I heard that Kurt was killed when he attacked us. It was a gun battle, there was no choice.”
“Oh, are you telling me that robots fear for their lives?”
“He brought Kurt back to life.”
“So he can kill him. With that blade?”
She knows. “It was a fight. The robots, they have simple reactions. We can change that reaction to how they rule us.”
This time she hits me hard. “Traitor. You would have machines rule us? Murder us in the street?”
“Better than a tyrant,” I say after I catch my breath.
“I’ve had enough of him. Release him.” She moves closer to my face. “You can tell Turing that I will never rest until he is deep beneath the ground. This world is only for us. Your people. And our tools. Never for our tools to rule us. You poor sad man.”
And before I can even say a word she’s gone. Frag looking at me for a few seconds. “You really think that the robots will be good for us?” He seems to hesitate.
“They are our only hope.”
“Why are they killing us?”
“They’re not. They only started by shooting some of the tyrants.”
Frag shakes his head. He’s smarter than I thought. Why is he only a guard? Is he an informant for Mary? “Not the bombings. They were hitting people low down on the food chain. That’s when they lost me. And I heard,” he says and moves closer to me, smelling like blood, “that they were only bombing us to get flesh. To look like us.”
For some reason it rings as true to my guts, but my mind thinks it’s a little too far. “That’s an urban myth.”
“You sure?”
“I am.”
“Then the bodies we found, stripped of flesh. Fresh stripping. That was nothing?”
“What stripped bodies?”
Frag looks at me like I’m odd. He leads me out to an empty hallway and pushes me in front of me. After a few minutes I come to an opening. Looking down I see the bodies, and rats clambering all over them. The stench of rotting flesh pulls bile from my liver and I heave.
“Look at it. It was the robots.”
I shake my head. “It can’t be.”
“It was.”
I stumble away from it. “Did you see them do it?”
“I saw them dump the bodies. I worked nights. And even before the war kicked off, I saw them dumping bodies. It was homeless people at first. Then bombing victims. But now, it’s war, so I guess it doesn’t matter who they get.”
For a few seconds I observe Frag’s face. He’s not lying, though he may be misled. Or he may simply be trying to turn me into an agent for this group of misled militiamen and women. Unlike the words of Mary and Behemoth, I trust him, trust his face, almost think about turning over. Maybe for him. Maybe for Dalcia. What happens when one’s unsure about the future? Really doesn’t know what’s right or wrong? What happens then? I don’t want to pick a side, merely the actions which will be best for humanity. But am I choosing right if I don’t know which action will lead to what? Isn’t it all a fool’s errand? What happens when the man, the simple man that I am, wants companionship, some better sense of belonging. Surely this is the call of the weak? One must know what is good for mankind and one must move forward, not hesitating when a kind face is met.
Just then a group of people walk by in the distance through a parallel tunnel. The buzz surrounding them tickles me and seems to cut Frag’s talk short. “Follow me,” he says, after seeming to think for a while, and I break into a trot to keep up with him. We catch up with the group, which melds into another group, then another. All armed. All agitating for a proper fight. I know the feeling and it fills me with an elation I have not felt for some time. Soon we’re climbing steps. The group dissipates, but it’s to known positions. This is an ambush.
I find myself on a tall building. Smoke is heavy, but slowly it’s clearing. And a mass of people walking on the streets below. Dalcia is in front with a handful of snipers next to her. Each with a fifty cal rifle.
“There,” she points to the middle of the crowd. Describes a man walking with a red armband and one of the sniper rifles fires. Head shot. The man falls. Robot. His head now a splayed piece of metal twitches, then stops.
Frag leans up next to me. “We use bullets that render their armor useless.”
I wasn’t aware the robots were using any armor, but it would make sense. The machines wouldn’t be able to go far if mere bullets stopped them.
“We’re trying to use other tricks to send them into loops,” Frag whispers as another shot goes off.
I feel small, out of my element. What do I know about the nuts and bolts of this war?
“Some visual tricks. They’re simple machines, you know. They only have input output and with the right inputs we have taken down a whole legion of them.” He’s trying to bring me over to the winning side.
“Is Dalcia the only one who can tell them apart from humans?” I ask.
Frag nods sadly. “Haven’t been able to train anyone else so far.”
I realize that this is some good information, or a good reason for Turing to want Dalcia dead. My goodwill towards Dalcia and this group of militiamen who are taking on the great machines bubbles up. I’m that close to turning. Is that all it takes? Some propaganda?
Oh, but that is it. I’m not yet sure, but as Frag leads me away from the windows—some robots are returning fire—I see Behemoth, in a top hat, staring at Dalcia. It’s hard to place whether he’s looking with affection or hatred. I catch his eye for a second and I see his eyes light up with hope.
“Well, George,” he says and shakes my hand. I feel Frag go stiff besides me. He doesn’t like Behemoth either.
“What are you doing here?”
“She’s... these brave men are our great last hope. The AI triggers in China and India, not to mention the rest of NATO are all compromised by Turing. Bastard out maneuvered us.”
Frag steps in. “You created him. And now we have to destroy him for you.”
Behemoth raises his hands. “I know, I know. We never knew it could get so out of hand.” He glances at me, either blaming me or looking for help.
“You and I both know,” I say, “that the only reason you even were in hand with Behemoth was to get rid of the likes of him.” I jerk my hand at Frag.
Frag nods. “Exactly. Our masters were just waiting to toss us aside.”
“Oh no,” says Behemoth. “We should not fight amongst each other. We are all friends. Dividing us is what the machines want to do.” In the flash of an eye I see Behemoth’s face change, then return to normal.
By now we’ve moved into the tunnels and there is a crowd around us. They all appear agitated, egging Frag on. Again I see fear in Behemoth’s face, and though it fills me with joy to see him cower, I don’t like the group’s tone. It’s the tone of the mob and even if that’s churning up my insides, I say nothing. I will not help Behemoth.
Without warning, someone from the group throws a brick at Behemoth. He doesn’t see it coming. And suddenly he’s stunned. For a second I will him to be that evil creature who could shape shift and fly away. Why doesn’t he do that? Instead he’s pleading, touching the blood on his face like it’s something he’s never expected. I realize how weak he was. And just like that, he’s whimpering, begging on his knees. But even I know that this won’t work, that it only feeds a mob. A
nd like that they’re on him, tearing him apart, limb from limb, the anger in their eyes like a gleam.
I feel a tug and I’m thrown into another tunnel. It’s Frag. “You’d better leave. They’re not going to take kindly to a traitor amongst them.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I do. We run until my legs feel heavy, those old pains in my joints scream, and my lungs aren’t able to take in air. I shake Frag’s hand.
“Thanks.”
He looks at me. “Of course... I was once like you.”
“Army?”
“Yes. But not that. I once was a man who was hopeful that the machines would help us. Cut off power when it got out of hand. Imagine that. A way to cut down iniquity as needed. To make evil cost to much for humans and so we would no longer do it. I really believed that. But if there is a way, that way, it’s not what Turing is. You have to understand that.” He searches my eyes for something. He doesn’t seem to find it. He hands me a small phone. “Take this. It’s one of those visual tricks I told you about. You can flash it in Turing’s eyes, and he’ll go into a loop. It’ll spread to everyone of them.” He presses it into my hands.
I’m not sure what to say. “How does it work?”
With a press of a button he shows it to me. It’s not a phone, only meant to look like one. I stare at the visual representation and wonder how it is that this will take down Turing and everyone else.
“Do it,” he says. “If not for an old bastard like me, then for Dalcia. I know you care about her. She talks about you...” He looks off. “Fuck.”
The sound of the mob is moving towards us.
“Get out of here, I’ll delay them.”
I stumble amongst the tunnels for what feels like forever. I don’t once see a living or robotic individual. The sewers in which I’m lost smell like rotting flesh and feces and urine. I vomit until whatever bile I had in my body is gone. I stumble into a room. Concrete on all sides, it smells more of clean air than anything else. But it has no other exits. I fall asleep, wondering what it is that’s crawling through my flesh. What is it that’s creating this tension in my heart? Is it the thought that Turing is the wrong machine to base all my hope upon? Or perhaps I’m showing weakness of a kind?
When I open my eyes, Turing stands above me. Grinning. “You all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say. I’m on the beach. It’s clear as far as I can see, except for the birds. I remember the concrete cavern filled with bones, sheered of their flesh. I hold back hatred. Turing gives me breakfast and watches as I eat.
“We got her.”
My heart drops. “Who?” I know who. How? She was protected.
“Sniper shot. Did to her as she did to us.” Turing chuckles, then stops. He must see the pain on my face. There is no way to mask a broken spirit. I valiantly manage to hold back tears.
“Oh, surely you have no reason to miss her?”
“Dalcia?”
“No... Mary,” Turing says and cocks his head at me. “You were supposed to talk to Dalcia. How did that go?”
My heart still hasn’t recovered, and I wonder how I feel about Mary dying. It’s certainly not as fatal to my heart as Dalcia.
“She’s set in her ways. I think the likes of Mary got to her.”
“The leaders? Well, maybe they’ll come around when news of their demise hits.”
I remember Behemoth. “I’m not sure about that. It’s not like they care for them. They’ve been thrust aside too many times. Used. I think the rebels are fine with the leaders being killed.”
“Then how come they don’t embrace us? Accept us as the saviors for killing them all off.”
That words sits in my chest. “All of them?”
“Most are in hiding, but the sniper campaign got most of them down...” Truing looks off at a swarm of birds darting about above us. “We eliminate the people who held them down, who would be crushing them underfoot as soon as we were gone, and now they still want to fight us?”
“They were reluctant partners as far as I could tell.”
“Again because of us. We tore down all the propaganda mechanisms they had. Made sure the powerful didn’t have the internet to themselves.”
“I know.” Though I thought that the handful of software we tried to install had in the end been defeated.
“What, then drives them?”
“They don’t know what will come next. They want the power.”
“So they want to continue that cycle of subjugation?”
“Better the devil you know, right?”
Turing chuckles, then grows quiet again. He stares off at the distance. “She’s good, Dalcia is. Might be the only human that can see through our disguises.”
My skin crawls. “How do you get these disguises?”
Turing looks at me. “Why do you ask?” He’s being paternal.
And I’m assigning him human qualities. He’s only made to appear paternal. If George says something about the flesh, then act paternal... Or something like that.
“Why does that matter?”
Silence.
Then a sniffing sound breaks off behind me. I turn. It’s Yusef, crawling about on all fours, a collar with a loose leash around his neck. Turing grabs the leash and Yusef sits.
“Yusef?”
He looks at me, his eyes vacant. When he seems to recognize me, he turns cold, angry. Yusef calmly ties the end of the leash to a small stick and pierces the sand with it. “Good boy.”
Fear is a funny thing, sometimes. But it always tears away at your insides, no matter how long it takes you to recognize it. And for several minutes I look away from Yusef, trying to work out why I feel sick.
A woman walks in. A robot, I assume. She’s gorgeous, with the hint of an intelligence that sorely reminds me of m wife. Dalcia too. She smiles at me. If she’s a robot all this is merely programmed. Maybe she’s meant to flirt with me? Why? Surely Turing doesn’t need me anymore.
“We got the rebels on the run,” says the woman.
“Dalcia?”
“She’s on the run. We’ll get her.”
Turing pats me on the back. “The operation was a success. Thanks.”
“Thanks for what?” I ask. Did my actions have anything to do with the rebels demise. I reach into my pockets and remember what Frag gave me. Perhaps now would be the moment to end this. This sick feeling must mean something.
“What’s that?” Turing asks, pointing to the pocket with the phone in it.
“Nothing.”
He looks at the female robot.
I stand up, sensing that I need to leave. “Let me see how the city is. I need coffee.”
When I make it up it is a warm and balmy day. I shed a coat, keeping the phone close at hand. The city is in ruins, though at least the smoke has lifted. In the clear and otherwise beautiful day I can hear the drones far above and out of sight. Most of the buildings near me have collapsed. The city, this part of it usually gleaming with canyons, is decimated. At least the sun can now reach me. I see robots helping survivors out of the rubble. There are a handful of people who seem thankful. That lifts a slight weight off my chest. But around the next corner I see robots executing people. These robots are was to tell apart because they’re in shiny exoskeletons. They seem to no longer need to look like us.
For days I travel around the ruins of the city. Every now and then I see people being helped by robots. But whereever they fight them, they are crushed. Ruthlessly. I wanted the future to be bright, not to be this decimation of a once great city. Still, I finger the phone in my pocket. I could call Turing. End this all. But I’m being regressive, aren’t I? I am the Neanderthal who doesn’t understand what’s happening to him because he’s out of his element. Perhaps this was true of me my entire life. Perhaps this is why I am a broken soldier. The city is in ruins, but out of this, like Tokyo, Hiroshima, Dresden, much good can come out of it. But I have nothing to contribute to the greater good.
E
very now and then I’m shocked out of my thoughts by a flash in the sky and a missile landing in the city, cracking the air, filling the sky with rubble and smoke. Why are the robots still firing? They’ve won, haven’t they? Here and there in amongst the groups of robots, I see autistic handlers. Training them, pointing out where they should search. I avoid them as best I can. I see a couple of them in a group of shiny metallic robots holding signs that say “the meek shall inherit the earth”.
Then I see posters. Wanted posters. The first few are for Dalcia. Then I see one for me. My heart drops. But surely I expected this, or should have? If Turing chained up his creator, what would he do to me? I see the sign below claiming that I’m very dangerous. There’s a picture of the phone. At first I wonder how they knew about the phone if they didn’t see it. Then I remember that they torture. A torture of purity for it doesn’t affect them. I wonder how Frag died. Or rather, I hope that he did. I now walk in the rubble, hiding, just in case a drone from above or below recognizes me. Turing is now on the hunt for me. He is eliminating all possible chances to kill him. Perhaps I can find out where he is, sneak up on him and kill him. But I find the energy to even think out this plan to be impossible to find.
By now I’m seeing two kinds of posters with my face on them. one is certainly Turing’s while another is marked with an oddly shaped fist. I am beneath the surface again as night, given the night vision capabilities of whomever is hunting me. Here, in the rubble, one’s line of sight is only a few feet before the next pile of rubble or bulging wall with its protruding steel bars.
There are many refugees milling about on this night, everyone taking refuge from the barrage of bombs and whistling rockets above ground. No one is sure who is fighting whom. many don’t seem to care. The talk from the huddled masses is about where the food and water is. Slowly everyone starts heading in one direction, then another cry or bomb and they head another. The smell of smoke, spent explosives, burning electrical fires and flesh, so much flesh, hangs heavy and little children vomit at the stench.
At one point I find myself face too face with a checkpoint. A metal face asks for my hand. I freeze, my throat tightens. The robot grabs my hand and scans it. They wave me through. I pause and talk to the commander, a human. Apparently they’re an anti-Turing faction. he makes certain to point out that he isn’t against robots and he points to the robots manning the checkpoint, for they’re man’s best friend... But that Turing, he’s infected with a virus, Russian, I hear. I want to stay with them, see how they work, help them. But I notice a symbol on his lapel—it’s the same one I saw on that second wanted poster for me. I leave, trying not to run, but when I turn a corner I run as fast as I can.
The Labyrinth of Souls Page 49