Crusade Against the Machines

by Franklyn Santana

  »Yeah, ey, el mundo se está acabando – the world is coming to an end. What’s up with you muchachos, man? Look at all these square-jawed clothes, yo!« Don Mambo slapped me on the back with his paw. »Yo, muchacho, you gotta loosen up. You sit there all stiff like you got a stick up your ass, man!«

  »Hey, nigga, I really don’t wanna be born today,« growled Daddy Negro. »No, really I fucking don’t!«

  »Hey, but never mind. You can’t help it muchacho,« said Don Mambo and put his arm on my shoulder. »You just never got to know real culture, man. But show me that hot bitch you got on that thing again. Can you copy that for me, muchacho?« And he pulled out his own smartphone.

  But for me he had now gone too far. He had called Betty Boobs a bitch again. And that was a subject I was sensitive to. I pushed his arm away and stood up. »Listen to me, you clown! I told you before, she is none of your bitches, she is Betty Boobs.«

  Don Mambo also stood up now, which means he wanted to stand up. But before he stood on both legs, I kicked his right leg sideways with a quick movement, so that he lost his balance in his already drunken state and could only with difficulty slow down his fall grabbing the bar stool between us.

  I stood before him ready to strike. »I don’t comment anything negative about your dusty pensioners’ music; so keep your mouth shut about Betty! Is that clear?«

  His comrade Daddy Negro watched the tense scene calmly from his seat. »Let it go, nigga! It’s just a muchacho, yo. You really think this cyber-bitch is for real?«

  »Hey, what are you saying?« I asked him.

  Now he turned to me: »Hey, man, don’t tell me you didn’t know, muchacho! That bitch of yours, Betty Boobies, she ain’t even real, man. Computer-generated shit.«

  »Yeah, the one in my smartphone,« I agreed. »But there’s also a real Betty Boobs. And I will not let you or your buddy insult her.«

  Daddy Negro shook his head in pity. »You still don’t get it, do you, nigga? Your Betty Boobs doesn’t exist. It’s a computer program. Oh, man, those boys today!«

  »That’s not true!« I declared with conviction. »I know quite well that a lot of porn is only generated on computers, but there are also real actors. And the real Betty Boobs is flesh and blood. I happen to know that for a fact.«

  »Man, you don’t know shit,« Daddy Negro replied. »You think any bitch has tits like that in real life? You’re out of touch, muchacho.«

  »Anyway, I know more about computer technology than you two retirees. There are a lot of porn stars that inject themselves with silicone,« I replied furiously.

  »Hey, nigga, I’ve seen Betty Boobs videos too, man. And I know she is CGI,« insisted Daddy Negro. »Yeah, must come as a shock to you, nigga, ey? Our muchacho jerking off every night at the sight of these titties, doesn’t even know he’s just staring at a fucking 3-D cartoon.«

  I knew he was wrong. »Oh, yeah?« I said defiantly. »But I did see one of her film partners, Mike Schlong, with my own eyes, signing autographs at a convention. What do you think of that? If her co-star is real, then Betty Boobs has to be real too, right?«

  Daddy Negro waved it off. »Forget it, muchacho! Mike Schlong used to do real porn, but then he got digitalized. Now he just collects the money for the rights and lets his CGI twin do all the fucking for him instead. You young guys have really lost your mind, man. What you see is the Mike Slong program fucking with the Betty Boobs program, pendejo!«

  Suddenly doubts began to gnaw at me. Could it be that he was right? Could it be that even I, who thought I was a computer expert, had been duped? Was really everything we saw on TV and the Internet a computer-generated lie? Were there no real actors left, not even my Betty Boobs? But even if she was computer-generated, there had to be a template for her somewhere, a real Betty Boobs of flesh and blood.

  »You’re wrong,« I said, trying to convince myself with my own words. »You can’t know that.«

  »Hey, just believe whatever you want, muchacho. I don’t give a shit, man,« growled Daddy Negro and turned back to his beer. His buddy had also sat down next to him again.

  In the meantime, the news channel had switched from election coverage to the Indonesia crisis. »After the massacre in Jakarta, politicians from all over the world today expressed their horror and condemned the incident in the strongest terms. Our reporter Julian Holden is reporting live from Jakarta.« This was followed by pictures from the Indonesian capital. The reporter introduced as Julian Holden was standing on an empty public square. He could be a computer-generated avatar, an android, or even a real person. I no longer believed anything I saw. In the background I could hear the siren of an ambulance car. I could see horrified people and a myriad of plastic sheets lying on the ground. Each sheet covered an elongated object, which might have been the corpse of a human body. On the small picture alone, dozens of them were seen. In the far background was a phalanx of robots in police uniforms and with metallic faces. Two ten-feet-high military combat robots surmounted the phalanx of police officers. They were only remotely humanoid, had two legs and four or more arms, loaded with heavy weapons, including twenty-millimeter machine canons and rocket launchers.

  »There are still conflicting statements about what happened. While a spokesman for USEAN troops in Jakarta stressed that the deaths were the result of a wrong decision by the human commander of the robot unit guarding the Shanghai Robot premises, surviving witnesses of the massacre confirm that no human officer was present at the time of the incident and that the robots started firing synchronously when the protesters tried to storm the factory premises. If this account proves to be true, it would be the first case of combat robots opening fire on human civilians on their own initiative. According to some doctors I have spoken to on the ground, the number of injured is in the hundreds, in addition to the more than a hundred deaths. However, reliable figures are still not available. What is certain, is that it was a massacre and that the robots fired military-style weapons at unarmed protesters with unprecedented brutality. A representative of Shanghai Robot has not yet been available for any official statement.

  The journalist in the studio asked: »Julian, can you describe the situation on site. What is the mood among the population? Are there further outbreaks of violence?«

  »Now at the moment, there is simply sheer terror. The local people are paralyzed by the deaths. Many people still can’t believe what has happened. The Indonesian police have now formed a phalanx between the USEAN combat robots and possible protesters to prevent further confrontation.

  »Julian, as far as we can see in the picture behind you, the police units are also made up of robots. Is that correct?«

  »Yes, that’s correct, but they are units of the civil police, that is, ordinary humanoid androids without built-in weapons. And they are, as far as I can see, under the control of human police officers.«

  Daddy Negro and Don Mambo stared like hypnotized at the pictures on the TV screen. »Hey, man! Look at that, dude!« said the Puerto Rican to his buddy as the camera panned over the masses of the dead bodies. Then we saw some blurry pictures that apparently came from a smartphone camera. We saw explosions, people screaming and running around, but no details were visible.

  The TV station switched back to the studio. »There is no official statement from the Indonesian government yet, but several Islamic clergymen in Jakarta demanded the immediate disarmament of all robots and called for jihad against the machines.« Pictures were seen of a bearded man dressed in a white robe, shouting fanatically at the crowd around him.

  »There were similar reactions from the South Asian Union,« continued the newsreader. »There were also spontaneous protest rallies in India, Bangladesh and the Arabian Peninsula, where preachers called on the faithful to join in a jihad against the Indonesian government and the USEAN Security Commission. U. S. President al-Rahman also condemned the massacre in Jakarta in the strongest possible terms and called for rapid measures to disarm all robots«.

  I went to O’Neil and Miss P
almer, who were still sitting at their table together. »Hey, boss, did you see that?« I said excited. I assumed that what happened in Indonesia must have been important to him too. After all, he was a politician.

  »Mr. O’Neil please or Senator,« he corrected me. »I resent this misplaced confidentiality, Mr. Dexter.«

  »Yeah, then O’Neil, if you insist,« I said. »But just look at that! There have been a few hundred deaths in Indonesia. Robots were shooting at people.«

  Now he and Miss Palmer also watched the screen with the news. For a few minutes both watched without saying a word. Then O’Neil looked at the android a bit irritated. He probably wondered what was going on in her head right now. In a way, it was machines like her who were responsible for the massacre. Would she feel guilt or satisfaction?

  Miss Palmer got up. »This is bad news,« she said. »I think I need to get back to the office.«

  »Yeah, sure,« O’Neil said, and he stood up too. »What we discussed, still stands.« They shook hands, then the android went out.

  O’Neil turned back to the screen, which showed various politicians from around the world who unanimously condemned the massacre and gave their comments on the situation. Then the picture of a Chinese military robot was shown, apparently the same type used by the USEAN in Indonesia and responsible for the disaster. It was an autonomous machine with supposedly human intelligence. It was nearly ten feet high. Its hull was made of bare metal. Four arms, equipped with several kinds of weapons, were attached to his torso. In addition, rocket and grenade launchers were built into his shoulders. His eyes looked cold and deadly into the camera. This was the main infantry force of modern military.

  Chapter 4

  New Detroit, 2111

  A lot had changed when it came to the military, as I had known it: There were the armored combat machines of the past and then the commander of the New Detroit militia who was standing before me in this moment. Colonel Lewis wore leather armor and a fur cap with the insignia of his rank. A steel crossbow hung over his shoulder. The corresponding steel bolts were in a belt that ran from his right shoulder to the machete on his left hip. His arms and legs were wrapped in thick cloth, dyed in a camouflage pattern. He had come to school in this military gear and had asked for me. He was about thirty years younger than me and had not witnessed the Crusade against the Machines anymore. Now he stood in front of me in the teachers’ canteen. Director Wilson, Magister Sanders and Miss Doyle were also present.

  »Good morning, Colonel,« I greeted him. »What brings you here today?«

  »Oh, Magister Dexter, it’s a pleasure to see you in such good health,« he said with a distinctly friendly smile.

  »More or less,« I mumbled. »But that’s not why you came.«

  »No, of course not,« he admitted.

  Meanwhile, Miss Doyle had prepared a cup of that dreadful tea and handed it to him. »Colonel Lewis, may I offer you a cup of tea. It will warm you up a little.«

  »Oh, thank you, Miss Doyle. That’s too kind,« the Colonel accepted thankfully. After sipping a little from the cup, he put it down again. I was amazed how well he was able to control himself, since he didn’t even pull a face. »Mmm, very hot! Say, would you have a little sugar for me?«

  »Sugar is hard to come by these days,« old Miss Doyle replied. »We usually use honey.«

  »But unfortunately we have run out of honey, too,« Sanders said regretfully.

  »Actually, we already ran out of it on Friday, and nobody cared to do anything about it,« I added to Sanders with a reproachful look.

  The commander of the militia took another tiny sip. Then he put the cup down on the table. »Oh, that doesn’t matter. It tastes just as good.« He was a fucking hypocrite.

  »Yes, it’s not easy nowadays with certain goods,« Miss Doyle sighed.

  The officer nodded understandingly. Then he turned to me again. »The reason why I’ve come is actually that I... that is, the militia, once again need your invaluable expertise.«

  »What is it this time?« I wanted to know.

  »Well, my men discovered some very interesting artifacts on their last expedition to the ruins in Detroit.« The colonel grinned sheepishly. »Unfortunately, we were unable to identify exactly what they were. And so I thought, ... that is, we wondered if you might be able to help us with that. Maybe you could just take a look at it this afternoon, after school, of course...«

  Again! The last piece they recovered from the rubble was an empty launch tube for an RPG. They were convinced that they had found some kind of cannon, which could be reused just by somehow stuffing some black powder and a lead bullet into it. It had taken me some effort to make the militiamen understand that the empty launcher was worthless without the missile that went with it. The real weapon was not the launcher, of course, but the missile.

  The colonel regularly brought back some scrap metal from the ruins, which he was convinced he could convert into a functional weapon. And since I was the only one who had any notion of past technology, especially military hardware, he always carried this stuff to me. It was terrifying to what degree we had declined. We were reaching the level of primitive medieval barbarians. Once I would be gone, there wouldn’t be anyone left who understood even the basic principles of how things used to work. And I had not succeeded in training one of my students to the point where I could have passed on my knowledge to him. I didn’t have much longer to live. I was too old by now, and I felt my health going downhill. At some point they would have to get along without me. And then they would probably start to explain old technology not with science but with magic. Then the memory of our former industrial civilization would only live on as legends about times long past with mighty magicians. And this would be how the great ambitions of mankind ended.

  Thinking about this hopeless future depressed me. What could I do? It made me realize how important my role at this school was. If I could only succeed in giving at least some of my students a little basic knowledge and the basics of scientific methodology, I might be able to pass on something of what our civilization once stood for to future generations, not the excesses of technology, but humanism and rationalism instead of that sort of barbarism that was spreading all around us. Perhaps I could leave some small legacy for future humanity. I had never had children. And I didn’t just want to die and leave nothing behind, as if I had never existed at all. I didn’t have much time left. And the students I had taught so far had been a disappointment to me. Maybe I was wrong. I hoped I was wrong. It was difficult for a teacher to judge what influence he finally had on the future destiny of his students. And if a teacher could only help to make a single student a better, more civilized person, his life would not have been in vain.

  »So can we count on you?« asked Colonel Lewis.

  »What is it about? Couldn’t you just have brought it over here?« I asked him.

  »What are you thinking, Mr. Dexter? This is a matter of national security.«

  I could hardly suppress a smile. »A matter of national security« – It sounded so absurd coming from a barbarian in leather armor. Some things never change. The exaggerated secrecy and pomp of the military was one of them.

  »All right, I’ll take a look at what you found after class,« I sighed.

  »Thank you, Mr. Dexter. Our militia thanks you. I’ll wait for you, then. Um... I think I have to go now. I have a lot of work to do back at the barracks.

  »Won’t you finish your tea, Colonel?« asked old Miss Doyle.

  »Oh, I don’t think there’s time for that anymore. I’m really sorry. But thank you again«, the commander of the militia excused himself and was quick to step towards the door.

  »I think we really need some honey for the tea,« I said.

  Washington, D. C., 2051

  I went through my shopping list in my mind. I hoped I had enough money. My fridge at home was empty and I was hungry. I didn’t want to eat at that Chinese fast-food restaurant every night. If I cooked my own food, it was cheaper. And since this
miserable old penny-pincher O’Neil had just turned down my request for a pay raise, I had to see that I lived more frugally. The Old Man didn’t seem to realize that the prices doubled every month. Last month, a single trip on the metro bus had cost three hundred dollars. This month the fare had been raised to five hundred and fifty dollars.

  »Buy a month pass, Dexter. It’ll be cheaper in the end,« the Old Man had replied in his cynical attitude. Oh, how I hated him!

  Also today I had to work unpaid overtime again. It was already after eight in the evening. I wanted to pass by the supermarket before I went home. When I reached it, I already saw a larger crowd of people that had gathered on the parking area in front of it. They seemed upset about something. Two uniformed guard robots stood in front of the entrance and did not let anyone in. It looked as if there was another commotion because they had raised the prices again.

  When I reached the gathering, I asked a woman, who was standing a little aside with her stroller and a little boy, »What’s going on here?«

  »They won’t let us in,« she replied. »They say they’re not selling anything today.«

  »What? Why is that?« In the last few weeks, the shelves had been getting emptier and emptier. You could no longer buy what you wanted, but had to buy what was available, if there was something available. Since the beginning of the year, there hadn’t been any coffee. And whenever a product reappeared in the shop, it cost twice as much as before. And this wasn’t the only supermarket where it was like that. If there was something not available in one supermarket, for example coffee, then you couldn’t get coffee in any supermarket in the capital. It must have been some kind of supplier problem. But I didn’t understand what the closure was about.

  The woman no longer listened to me, but pushed her cart further forward and shouted: »Let us in! My children are hungry!«

  The whole group of people, which consisted of about thirty people, moved towards the robots that were blocking the entrance. Then one in the crowd suddenly shouted: »Hey, look! He’s coming out.«