Archangel

by Mich Moore

trains them by hooking pieces of meat on their legs and then locking them up in cages with starved animals. If the robot can kill at least two, he lets them live. Until the next time." She rolled her head around her slender neck, popping the bones. "He doesn't know that I know this, but I do." She suddenly flinched as if hit with an invisible punch. "He told me to go home." She reflected on these words. "I did not—" She made air quotes. "—'satisfy' him anymore."

  Dr. Larry's newest patient rose unsteadily to his feet and made for the door in an attempt to get away from her, but she sprang after him.

  "I know who you are," she hissed.

  He did not react.

  "You work in the AI program at Redstone." The woman's large eyes were boring into his skull. "So does my fiancé. He is the reason why your machines murder. I can get you proof."

  The dark-haired man finally turned to her. "You came here to destroy your boyfriend?"

  Her eyes flashed. "No!" Lisette Fuchs stepped back and removed her cap and scarf. She smiled. "I came to dance." She performed a mocking curtsey before him and then began pulling at her clothing. Items flew off her lithe body and floated to the polished floor. After she had rolled off her panties, she waved them high above her head with an artistic flourish. "Keep your eyes open."

  She immediately vaulted across the room with an impressive grand jeté and landed softly before a picturesque bay window. She then lifted one soiled foot to a spot beneath her other knee cap and began a series of rapid spins en pointe. The nude dancer stopped abruptly after the fourth turn, her thin arms outstretched. Her back shifted forward and then backwards. She attempted a walkover, almost tipped over, and then ended the impromptu performance with a childlike bow at the waist.

  Lisette Fuchs now stood before him. Her eyes were hot and glistening. "Did you enjoy that?"

  The man did not respond.

  A cross look overtook her ice queen features. "You didn't." She glared at him. "We try so hard to please you." Angry tears welled up in her eyes. "Nothing works. And then you dismiss us like bad servants. And we're left holding all of this love for someone who has already forgotten us."

  The European woman straightened up to look him squarely in the eyes, and her heretofore hidden extraordinary event—a crushed heart—revealed itself. "To love a man is to be cursed!"

  Her captive audience darted to one corner of the room and cowered with his hands over his face. "Please. Leave me alone."

  Her eyes grew big and she shrieked, "Why don't you leave me alone???" She stabbed the air with a gilded index fingernail. "I dance before Herod, too. And he has promised me the head of Patrik Jansen."

  The man tipped his head back and shouted, "HELP! PLEASE, HELP ME!"

  In a flash Dr. Larry and three other patients were pounding their way back into the meeting room. The psychiatrist quickly summed up the situation. His face began to bulge with anger. "DAMMIT, LISETTTE! I'VE TOLD YOU A DOZEN TIMES! KEEP YOUR CLOTHES ON!"

  9

  Grand Island, New York

  Another six DATs rolled off the assembly line, three males and three females. Daniel, Peter, Vernon, Connie, Sharon, and Colleen were the first official, combat-ready robots. They were nearly identical to the six prototype DATs with two major exceptions. A governor was placed on the DATs' processing time so that their random "white-outs" lasted no more than fifteen seconds. And should a DAT encounter a dog or cat or similarly sized animal, inside the robot's programming a subroutine would call a pointer, and calming images (photos of the DAT engineers or horses) would be inserted into every third frame of the feeds from the eye cameras. It was hoped this would dramatically reduce their aggression levels.

  They made their first outdoor track walkabouts in late spring. Over the next three weeks they were put through their paces, first with socialization, then the environmental trials, and finally with the new military protocols. Broussard and Walters were with them through every phase of their training. Against everyone's opinion on the subject, Chang had insisted that they maintain the family role-playing begun with the MITs back at Lincoln Hills. When the negative clamor reached a crescendo, he reminded everyone that he felt Connie would have wanted them to keep that aspect of socializing intact. Rattling the ghost of Connie Como before their stubborn hearts was enough to soften them, and the ruse remained in the DAT master log.

  By July they were deemed fully operational. Their rear body armor had not yet been shipped from the manufacturer in Detroit, but the rest of their offensive and defensive components were online. Four days later two of the six, Daniel and Colleen, were flown into the recently erected Grand Island Fortress in the heart of Grand Island, New York, for an official presentation to the Army's 104th Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion (mechanized). The commanding officer, Colonel Richard Higgins, along with a Special Forces unit (Army Green Beret) were on hand for the ceremony.

  While a small band played "Stars and Stripes," Broussard and Powell led the DATs out from a small waiting room to a large hall at the Grand Island City Hall where the top local military brass and several high-ranking civilians were awaiting them. As soon as the AIs stepped fully into view, the music came to a ragged, abrupt, and premature end. The room became deathly silent as battle-hardened men caught their collective breaths at the sight. The DATs took a few tentative steps forward, ahead of their human partners, and looked around at everyone.

  One of the DAT handlers raised his hand in greeting. "Hello!"

  No one said anything. No one moved. They just stared at the robots.

  Ultimately, the attention proved too much for the DATs. Daniel quickly spun around and buried his head between Powell's legs. Colleen dispensed with such courtesies and simply dashed back inside the waiting room, dragging Broussard behind her.

  As Powell attempted to calm down Daniel, one of the men finally got up his nerve and slowly approached them. He looked down at the clearly frightened robot thrashing to and fro, trying to break free of its handler's grasp, and saw that there was a small comm board plate affixed to his forehead. It was flashing capital letters every three seconds:

  "STATUS: BELOW NORMAL THRESHOLD. TAKE ME HOME, UNCLE ERIC."

  The stranger held out his hand and placed it on the back of his twisting neck. The DAT whirled around to face him. "DO NOT TOUCH!"

  The man quickly withdrew his hand and looked up to the human for direction.

  Powell managed to make the DAT stand still. "Let's give them a little while to get used to the new environment. They aren't accustomed to so many strangers at once."

  The soldier scanned the robot's face. "The mouth doesn't move." He grinned. "I guess we don't have to worry about being bitten."

  Powell gave Daniel a friendly pat. "Trust me, that's gonna be the least of your worries."

  The man eyed him.

  "Sorry, poor choice of words. They're fine. As harmless as bunnies. You just have to get to know them. What's your name?"

  "Bud Wright."

  Powell shook Mr. Wright's hand, making sure that Daniel saw the action. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Let me introduce you to my nephew, Daniel. Daniel, this is a friend of mine. His name is Bud. Bud, this is my nephew, Daniel."

  As Wright was trying to puzzle that out, Daniel took one step forward, his comm board glowing.

  "Hello, Mr. Wright."

  Bud Wright grinned. "Well, hello, Daniel. You can call me Bud, okay?"

  "Yes."

  Wright motioned for the others to join them. "Welcome to Grand Island. We hope that you will enjoy visiting with us."

  Daniel did not reply.

  Wright frowned. "Does he not understand complete sentences?

  "Of course he does. He's just processing right now."

  Colonel Higgins walked over, his hand extended towards Powell. "Hello, again! Welcome to Fort Grand Island. How was your flight up?"

  "A little bumpy. That may also explain why the DATs are a little spooked." The two men avoided making eye contact with the unmoving DAT.

  The colonel looked
over towards the closed waiting room. Loud thumps and crashing noises could be heard. "Should we get some help in there?"

  Powell scratched the side of his face. He hadn't shaved in a while. "Naw, they'll be fine."

  The colonel fell silent. Without realizing it, he found himself staring into the face of the robot who, it turned out, was looking directly back at him. Or rather at the rows of medals and insignias fastened to his chest. That unblinking stare had always made him uneasy, and the colonel blinked hard to cover up the fact.

  Words flashed across the DAT's forehead. "Are you a policeman?"

  "No, Daniel. I'm a soldier."

  "What does a soldier do?"

  "A soldier fights to protect his family and his country."

  "Me, too."

  That evening, after taking supper in his private quarters, Higgins relaxed with Bud Wright, the A-P for the Buffalo area, and Lieutenant Colonel Dallas Cohen, who was in charge of the Berets.

  Higgins had pushed back from his now empty plate and was savoring a Cuban cigar. "So, what do you think about our guests?" The table was littered with empty beer bottles.

  Wright stroked his chin. "I think that they'll make fine guests, and probably lousy soldiers."

  Cohen raised his glass of beer. "Here, here."

  "You don't have to worry about that anytime soon. They're basically SAs—soldier assistants. More like smart pack mules. They won't have the brains to give orders for at least another eight or nine generations."

  Cohen was amused. "They're pretty damn smart right now! Me and some of