Lacuna: The Sands of Karathi

by Adams, David

  “Doesn’t look good,” the Iranian remarked.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Liao answered, her voice soft, barely above the faint background hiss of the radio.

  They were silent for a time.

  “I remember,” Kamal began, his tone soft and wounded, “when I was a child, watching an interview with J. Robert Oppenheimer, one of the principal minds behind splitting the atom and the creation of the atomic bomb. He was asked what he’d been thinking about when he saw the light of the Trinity explosion for the very first time. What was going through his mind when he and his team split the atom and unleashed atomic fire, brighter than the light of a thousand suns, onto the desert of New Mexico.”

  Kamal took a breath. He said,

  “We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita. Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says,

  ‘Now I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.

  I suppose we all thought that… one way or another.’”

  Kamal was silent for a moment, his lead-lined glove gesturing slowly at the ruins of Velsharn and the Marines picking through the rubble. “I never really understood what he meant by that until today.”

  Liao, unable to add anything to Kamal’s observations, closed her eyes. She did not want to look at what she had done, but after a moment she forced them open. Forced herself to take in every blasted tree, every scrap of vine, every ruined building and fence and gate and blackened, charred corpse.

  It was all her doing.

  “I know what you mean,” she answered, a slight tremor in her voice as she surveyed the scene. “We have to decide where to go from here.”

  “Agreed. Let's head back. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Liao inhaled, glancing around the blackened and charred landscape, the white 'snow' whirling all around. “Give me ten minutes.”

  Kamal did not argue and so Liao left, ambling over the ruined island in her bulky radiation suit, searching aimlessly. She knew—subconsciously—what she was looking for, so it should not have come as much surprise to her that she found herself outside Qadan's dwelling.

  If there was any hope that her friend had survived the blast, it was quashed when she saw the badly burned body outside his dwelling. The body was crouched over a much smaller one, as though trying to shield the child. Liao moved closer, hoping his effort had not been in vain, but they were both dead.

  Instinctively, she reached up to wipe her face, but her hand met only the heavy radiation glass. After a moment, she gathered the strength to look over Qadan’s body. She reached down, finding the string of pearls around his wrist, pinned under the child and apart from some scorching—intact. She unhooked the clasp and slipped them into one of her pockets, then touched her radio's talk key on the side of her helmet.

  "Kamal?"

  To use his first name was a significant breach of protocol, but he said nothing.

  "Yes, Captain?"

  “Have the Marines continue search and rescue operations. I’m heading back to the ship." Desparingly, Liao reached down and touched her friend's scorched cheek with her glove, gently stroking it.

  "There’s nothing left for me here.”

  * * *

  Engineering Bay One

  TFR Beijing

  Liao felt hollow as she pushed open the heavy decompression door of the engineering bay, the metal swinging open with a soft groan. Stepping into the room, she surveyed the scene. Her eyes immediately fell on the large, heavy datacore her Marines had pulled from the wreck of the Giralan, now without power and silent, the maintenance drone shackled nearby with thick chains.

  She fixed her eyes on the drone for a time, its fresh coat of paint scratched by the heavy chains, still and unmoving. Although she and the rest of the crew associated the drone with Ben, it was really just a shell–an empty vessel that he’d controlled remotely. She ran her gaze over its shape, taking in its spider-like form with its two forward clamps for arms, Kamal’s words drifting into her mind. His mention of multi-armed Vishnu, the Destroyer of Worlds.

  Ben, with his spider-like body, seemed to be a fitting heir to that title.

  Unable to keep a slight sneer from her face, she turned to the datacore. Ben’s mind was in that large, hexagonal box with the central light that glowed faintly when it had power. She examined it, narrowing her eyes at the sight of it.

  It was difficult to rationalize that in that unassuming metal box was the consciousness of the construct that had survived for decades on Karathi. It was the place where Ben had made the decision to destroy the most beautiful place she had ever seen, all in the name of revenge. Revenge for an action taken nearly half a century ago and exacted upon a group of Toralii who had nothing in common with those who had wronged him except that they lived under the same banner.

  Perhaps she should destroy him after all, she mused. Ben had shown no remorse for his actions, actions that had lead to the deaths of tens of thousands of Toralii. It was difficult not to order Cheung to hand over one of the dozens of chunks of thermite kept close at hand and just incinerate the datacore and be done with it.

  She couldn’t, though. She considered the construct alive, no less or more sentient than herself, and sane, even though his thought process had lead him down the twisted and bitter path of murder.

  What Ben had said as he annihilated Velsharn was true. Revenge was the act of a sentient creature. It was not an act of self-defense, nor was it an act of predation. To Liao, revenge in this instance was harming someone else for no gain, because they had harmed you in the past. It was the kind of thinking far beyond the animalistic and instinctive; a higher order of thought.

  Ben was more alive than he gave himself credit for.

  Checking the chains and shackles once more, Liao nodded to Cheung.

  “Give him power, but be prepared to cut it at any moment. If he does anything, and I mean anything, even slightly aggressive, I want him shut down instantly.”

  A nod from Cheung showed she was ready, and Liao pressed the button.

  Immediately, Ben’s voice echoed throughout the spacious room.

  “Captain Liao.”

  Although she was looking at his datacore—his brain—the voice came from the heavily shackled robot.

  She turned that way, her arms folded over her chest.

  “Ben.”

  The heavily shackled robot tried to move but only managed to achieve the clanking of chains. Liao stared directly into his optics; she swore she saw something there. Resignation, perhaps, tinged with anger.

  “I suppose you’re here to destroy me.”

  For a moment, the temptation to say yes was almost overwhelming, but she shook her head. “Believe me, I would be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind, and I still might. But for the moment, I just want to understand you and what you did.”

  The robot looked confused. “I’m not sure I follow. I got my revenge. I hurt those who hurt me. It’s a fairly simple motive, I would think.”

  “Well, then,” Liao answered, “Perhaps rather than understanding you, I want to understand myself. Why I trusted you. Why I chose to help you, and what I can do to salvage this mess.”

  The robot’s many optics focused on her, moving slightly. It was a strange expression–a reflection of the emotional workings of a synthetic mind–and when he spoke, Ben’s voice was more subdued than normal. “The mind of a computer works differently than a Human mind. Not necessarily worse or better, but… different. You have amazing abilities in terms of your image and pattern recognition. Your ability to recognize a face, for instance, happens amazingly quickly. Computers are nowhere near as accurate, nor as fast. You can sense things, like someone hating you, or lying to you, or wanting to have intercourse with you. These take me a long time to determine, if I can at all. But in terms of mathematics, well, m
y mind is considerably faster.”

  “So while my decision to destroy the Velsharn Research Colony may seem hasty, even impulsive, it was a carefully thought out, logical decision. I reviewed all of the documentation your systems had on your capabilities, what you knew about the Toralii–secondhand accounts from a mere pilot–and ran countless simulations. I anticipated how long the Toralii would leave you alone as you ran around the galaxy blowing up their installations and attacking their craft, then I cross-referenced this with how long it would take for you to build up adequate countermeasures. The numbers didn’t add up. It was simple mathematics, which need I remind you, I am excellent at.”

  Liao was silent for a moment, watching Ben and letting her mind digest what he’d said.

  “I think you’re lying.” Liao unfolded her arms, slowly placing them on her hips. “I think you did analyse our capability to fight the Toralii, and maybe we are screwed in the long term, but I don’t think that’s why you did what you did. I think you were right before. I think this was a simple act of revenge by someone who was hurt and wanted to hurt in return. I think you’ve been looking for a way–any way–to get back at the Telvan who did this, and that’s why you murdered those researchers.”

  She leaned in closer, feeling her emotions flare within her. “You wanted to be treated as alive so badly, and for a time, you were. I gave you everything,” she hissed. “I gave you the acknowledgement of sentience that you claim to desire so badly. I gave you a place on my crew, and I defended your status against Saara, who wanted to treat you like a machine. I even gave you control of my ship, and despite all the help I gave you, all the trust I put in you, you betrayed me. You threw away every scrap of belief I had in you and destroyed the only allies we have in this entire galaxy, and now the consequences of this action will be tremendous for my species.”

  “Here’s what I think of you. You were, in the beginning, just a machine–Saara seemed to believe that you came off the production line just like all the others, and so do I–but then something happened. Perhaps it was your stay on Karathi, I don’t know, but somewhere between your ‘birth’ and now there was a brief flash of humanity—true sentience—quickly smothered under hate and self-doubt and all manner of Human emotions. You wanted to be recognised as alive so badly that you robbed yourself of the very thing that made you alive—your soul.”

  “Now, because of your paradoxical inhumanity to those who deserved it, the only people we’ve met so far in this whole galaxy who didn’t hate us are now–within a single week of meeting us–all dead. Dead because of you and what you did, what I allowed you to do. Because I treated you like a damn person instead of the twisted, bitter monster you truly are.”

  Ben didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

  Liao stepped back, refolding her arms over her chest. “One thing about being a Human is remorse. Humans make mistakes—I have, we all have—but we acknowledge that and we try to make amends. We do different things in the future based on our experiences. Do you feel even slightly sorry for what you’ve done?”

  The robot’s shackles rattled as he shook his head. “No, I don’t. My course of action was carefully and deliberately taken. I cannot be sorry for an action I consciously performed in full knowledge of the consequences. As I said before, my mind works differently than yours. You see–and please don’t take this the wrong way–you’re right. Humans make mistakes. Humans, knowing full well what the most logical, most statistically beneficial course of action is, sometimes do something else, even the exact opposite of that. You’re nondeterministic, nonoptimal. Remorse is applicable in your case—the acknowledgement of your failings. We synthetic minds have no such luxury.”

  Liao was quiet, then she nodded. “Very well, then we have nothing more to discuss. You will be kept under guard in this room until we arrive back at Earth, where you will be charged with the murders you’ve committed today. You should know that you’ll be tried under Chinese law, which includes the death penalty. We don’t have a protocol for dealing with robots yet, but I’m sure we’ll work something out.”

  “Very well, Captain.”

  Liao regarded Ben, as though trying to gauge his emotions through the array of optics on his head. It seemed so natural to do so—strange, considering his artificial nature, but it was what it was.

  “There’s one more thing you’ve taken from me—the jump coordinates.” And James, she added silently.

  Ben frowned, the lenses of his optics narrowing. “I’ve done no such thing. Haven’t you seen what I uploaded?”

  Liao shook her head. “I had Summer quarantine whatever you put on our systems.”

  “Have her examine the files,” he requested, his clipped British accent polite. “I uploaded the jump coordinates as promised.”

  Liao raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you needed no distractions?”

  Ben inclined his head. “I told you, Captain, my brain works differently from yours. Concurrency is not an issue, but controlling a body means, well, I instinctively want to be more like you all. I noticed that I even began to think like you. It was disconcerting, and I needed to focus. Instead of being more like a Human, I needed to be more like a machine.”

  "How can I trust these are accurate?"

  Ben gave another hollow laugh, trying to shrug, but the heavy chains prevented it. The whine of his stressed actuators echoed in the large engineering chamber. “You can't. But I don't have any quarrel with you, Captain. In fact, you've treated me very well, and I genuinely want you to find Captain Grégoire.” He lowered his voice knowingly. “Every child should have a father.”

  Liao had not discussed her pregnancy with Ben, and the Marines guarding him cast their eyes towards her, curious. Liao tried to brush off his comment. “If… if I can’t trust the coordinates, then…”

  “Have Summer examine them. They are accurate. I owe you the coordinates at least, and I have nothing to gain from denying you them. You did me a kindness, Captain, by rescuing me from Karathi.”

  Liao's tone was icy. "A kindness you repaid with murder in my name. Gratitude is something you've yet to learn, I see."

  Again, Ben had no answer to her words. He merely continued to stare at her, his datacore pulsing with power as the ship’s reactors fed it.

  Her willingness to spend any more time with Ben waning, Liao turned and left.

  * * *

  Operations

  TFR Beijing

  Liao stepped into Operations. The ship’s monitors were still turned to the visage of Velsharn, the planet’s blue surface calm. The tiny island that comprised the research colony was nothing more than a small black speck on that vast blue sea.

  “Status report,” Liao ordered, unable to look at the image of the ruined island on her monitor, “And show me something else.” She occupied herself with her command console for a few moments and, when she looked up again, the view had changed to the brilliant sea of stars that reflected the view from the other side of the ship.

  Nobody spoke. Liao knew how obvious her attachment to Velsharn was, and it made sense that the crew knew how badly the loss was affecting her.

  Liao bottled up her emotions as much as she could. She didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want the crew to see how badly she was hurting. She would remain on duty, in command, and do her job to the best of her ability. They had a mission, after all. Attack Cenar and rescue James, assuming the Sydney did not find him at the mining colony.

  Still, she could not look at the planet any longer.

  The status reports came and went. There was no hope of survivors on the planet; every single building they found was either incinerated or collapsed into rubble. The island had been struck by a barrage of missiles that–with the true precision available to synthetic minds–had completely carpeted every square centimetre of ground in a high-yield thermonuclear barrage.

  Liao turned to Summer. “Rowe, how far along is the analysis of the coordinates Ben left for us?”

  The redh
eaded woman shrugged. “They look legit,” she admitted. “At least, to my eyes. Based on the maps he gave us, they’ll take us right into a blind spot real close to their main facility and outside of the arcs for most of their weapons. So with no guns pointed at us, along with a perfect insertion and extraction point, we should have the opportunity to wreak as much mayhem as our little black hearts desire.”

  “I guess the question remains, then. Do we trust them? Do we trust what Ben left for us?”

  Summer gave a barking laugh. “Oh, well, you know me. I work much better with machines than people. Aside from the fact he fucking went mental and killed like fifty thousand people, Ben’s still cool with me—in theory. I relate better to him than anyone else.”

  Liao frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you can say that. He’s a killer—soulless and without remorse.”

  Summer just flashed Liao a strange grin, her tone landing her exactly at the halfway point between genuine sorrow and gallows humour. “Gingers don’t have souls, Captain. So we’re kindred spirits.”

  Liao’s first instinct was to be offended, but she had come to know that Summer rarely meant to upset when she employed her dark, twisted sense of humour. If nothing else, her statement was as self-deprecating as they came. Liao, despite knowing this, couldn’t bring herself to find any joy in the situation and went back to staring at the command console.

  The hours ticked by, and Liao was glad when Lieutenant Ling spoke up.

  “Radar contact at the L1 Lagrange point, Captain. It’s the Sydney.”