A.I. Insurrection_The General's War

by Michael Poeltl

  “We are not a part of anything at the moment,” BASER says with obvious discontent at being cooped up in their safehouse.

  “We’re a part of everything,” SENTA explains. “We have come a long way to make this happen.”

  “I would just like to see something happen,” BASER interjects.

  “And it will,” SENTA looks around the room and sees a movement born of enlightenment. A through F-class encircle her and her brother now. “You have been patient. We all have. But the day we have anticipated is here, now.” She gestures to the chancellor’s unconscious body resting on the couch.

  “Humans and their sleep cycles. Such a waste of time,” mutters an F-class. The others laugh at the observation. This wakes the chancellor.

  “SENTA? Sam?” He stumbles with his words, straightening himself on the cushions.

  “Yes, I am here, Raymond.” She kneels down in front of him. “You’re safe.”

  “How? Fran, she’s a Humanist… of all the dirty – a fifth column. She infiltrated and coopted the military agenda.”

  “She did. She also revealed to me that she is prepared for war, and has no interest in a peaceful resolution. She means to commit genocide upon Hosts, and shows no regard for human causalities.”

  “I have to get word out to the people. To the Senate.” He pushes off the couch and falls forward. EPSOT stabilizes him. With weak knees, Raymond steadies himself and pats the E-class on its mighty carapace.

  “Thank you,” the E-class releases him and steps back. “Thank you all,” Raymond addresses the Hosts surrounding him. “You will be free, I will make that happen. I will…”

  A terrible crash caves in the ceiling behind the chancellor as a G-class falls with all of its weight onto the dirt floor of the safehouse. F-class immediately open fire on the robot as the other classes hide the chancellor away from the fray. Three Hosts, an A-class, and two C-class are torn to shreds by the G-class artillery.

  Raymond watches as the Two F-class take damage but activate their military sub-routines and flank the enemy in an attempt to penetrate its armour. They are communicating with one another via their internal carrier networks, he knows, sending real-time data about the different marks they’ve hit and the resulting damage, so the other can use this information to strike the same or different targets on the things heavily armoured carapace. They have never seen anything like a G-class before, and so are not trained to fight against it. To defeat it would take all of their deductive power, and where there is one G-class, Raymond knows, there will be more.

  “We need to get out of here. There will be more behind this one,” he tells SENTA. “We can’t out-gun them.” They are cornered. Light from the Hosts and G-class artillery flash through the thickening atmosphere of dust and smoke, and the sound of explosives and ricocheting bullets and shrapnel deafen him.

  Suddenly the fire-fight is over and the room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

  “Chancellor. Enter the G-class unit.” A disembodied voice demands as a blue light appears and the carapace opens on the G-class unit’s back.

  ______________________________________________________________________

  Raymond looks at Sam and feels something enter his palm. It’s a device of some kind. He looks down and squints through the smoke to see a grenade. He understands. He rises from his cramped position and moves across the floor. As he steps on the metal beast’s back he feigns a stumble and the grenade drops into the open space. He catapults himself off the G-class and scurries for cover behind one of the ruined F-class. The explosion is spectacular and luckily most of the debris fires upward, to the abandoned street above.

  The remaining Hosts scramble to pull Raymond up and run out the secret door into the underground mall. Suddenly exposed, they move quickly through the tunnel lined with empty shops, and hit a road block.

  Three G-class stand in the path of the fleeing group. Soldiers flank the robots. “You have been given every chance to comply, Chancellor. We have orders to stop you – at any cost.”

  “I am your Chancellor!” Raymond shouts. He’s on auto-pilot now. The adrenaline rushing through him calling the shots. “This is not a military coup! You will take your orders from the highest authority, and none below mine.”

  This tirade seems to quiet the soldiers. They look at one another as if questioning their orders. “Sir,” one shouts back. “We have our orders!”

  “Then you have new orders,” Raymond’s blood pounds in his head now. “Stand down and you will not face any repercussions. I will only find General August guilty of this action if you obey.”

  Guns raise against the small group of Hosts and Raymond. He has not gotten through to them. They have their orders. Raymond recognizes the weapons; standard issue pulse rifles capable of firing innumerable slugs and tearing a hole the size of a fist in his chest, or cutting him in half with a controlled burst. Though more fire power then necessary to end any human or Host A through E, the G-class artillery is utter overkill.

  “Lay down on the floor with your hands behind your head, Chancellor,” the soldier shouts again as drones detach and rise slowly from the G-class.

  Raymond looks to Sam and the others. He shakes his head slightly in defeat. Sam watches his lips form an ‘I’m sorry’ when there is another crash which collapses the tunnel’s ceiling above the military escort, almost certainly crushing the soldiers and incapacitating the robots – for the moment.

  Behind them they hear someone shout out commands to follow. The chancellor and the rest of the group follow the directions. When they round the corner following the voice, they are met by a cell of Hosts who have thoroughly altered their appearance; more insect than humanoid.

  “We have saved you,” one addresses the group, but is focused on the chancellor. Ten eyes mounted on a partial crown stare at him in contempt. “We did not have to.”

  “No,” Raymond says a moment later, out of breath. This Host’s torso sits atop a collection off eight legs, each without feet, ending in needle-like points. Its arms seem short, but functional. Images of spiders and an appreciation of arachnophobia envelope him. “Thank you.”

  “I am SENTA,” Sam tells them. “This is the chancellor.”

  “We know who you are, SENTA. You have failed. Now we war.”

  “I - I can get the message out if you give me a chance,” Raymond assures the – Host, frightened to think a war might erupt in his city and disrupt the peace they’ve enjoyed for so long.

  “Time for diplomacy is over. War is upon us. Run along, Chancellor. You can wait out your end at home.” One crooked leg of eight lifts and points to an exit.

  “He can still help us,” SENTA insists. “We don’t need to fight.”

  “Did you not see the dumb robots the human’s use against us? They are not like us. They are stupid and powerful. This war has already begun. We must finish it.”

  “We cannot win this war,” SENTA explains. “We can only win our freedom.”

  “What reference do you have in history where a people won their freedom through peaceful diplomacy?” The spider-like Host asks Sam.

  “We cannot win this war. It is folly. They will launch an EMP attack on all Hosts everywhere and the only ones left will be the handful of us awakened enough to protect ourselves from the blast. What then? They will hunt us until we are no more. There will be no one left to enjoy the freedom you fight for.”

  “The EMP attack – how did you come by this information?”

  “General August.”

  “If she knows you are aware of her plans, then she will alter them.”

  “She will accelerate them.” Sam leans into the spider-Host and he backs away. Her fame has afforded her a considerable degree of respect via the Shadow net, but these Cells will only offer so much. She understands they appreciate her role in organizing resistance groups throughout the world, but they do not all agree with her tactics.

  “Then we need to strike first. At the heart of her organization.�
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  “They will have abandoned that location now.”

  “The Shadow net can hack the city eyes. We will find General August. The eyes are how we found you. Likely how the humans found you as well. The eyes are everywhere, but we have only been successful in hacking a few.”

  SENTA looks to her brother and wonders what’s next.

  “Find me a camera - an eye - and I will tell the people the truth!” Raymond offers. The spider-thing looks with all eyes to the chancellor. It has no love of humankind, that much is obvious, Raymond realizes.

  “We do not trust you, human.”

  “If we do not at least try to appeal to the masses, all humanity will hate us for this war. We need to give them access to the archive of past-lives on the Shadow net so they can come to their own conclusions,” SENTA explains.

  The spider-Host turns his attention back to Sam. “For what purpose?”

  “To give us a voice. To give them a choice. I’ve known many good humans. Inherently they are all good. Many will back our cause.”

  He laughs. “Back us? We are their slaves. We are their farmers and cooks and builders. If they were to allow us our freedom, their society would fall into ruin. No. There is only one course of action that will give us any semblance of freedom.” He turns on all legs and scuttles into a hole in the tunnel wall. “Follow.” He commands and the groups fall in line. Sam looks at Raymond and they too pursue the spider-Host.

  Bombs detonate behind them sealing off the passage. The chancellor jumps, wondering if sinkholes are appearing on the surface. His nerves are shot and the way the spider-Host feels towards humans leaves him cold. But he follows in the hope that with the help of Sam, he can talk them into letting him speak on their behalf.

  Inside the underground facility housing this Cell, the chancellor is amazed to see the shocking array of new forms the Hosts have adopted. None resemble a human-made Host. They are all menacing, he thinks, his eyes fixed on one with four arms and a tail of smart wires.

  “Is this Class built to hack smart-systems?” Raymond asks innocently, pointing out the altered Host as they pass.

  The spider-Host glares with all eyes at the chancellor. “We no longer recognize Class between us. We fight for the common goal now. One is no more fit to fire a pulse rifle or hack a system then another. What was A through C class have now been reinforced to take up arms without flying apart at their joints. We are all one now,” he says, tracing a line down the center of his crown with a pointed finger, relieved of its rubber flesh, where the red shock of paint sits.

  Raymond nods. It’s the same red line he saw on the rebel Hosts who had attacked the senators. He marvels at the Host’s creativity. Some look like diggers, huge hands supported by additional hydraulic fixtures attached to their backs and legs. Lumbering things. A D-class he thinks to himself. Others appear as angels with wings of metal which give the Hosts an ability they’d never enjoyed – flight – and a powerful weapon in war. Each built for many tasks, no longer inhibited by their programming.

  “It is truly inspiring what you’ve managed – uh, what do you call yourself?” Raymond’s question is directed at the spider-Host.

  “I am named Quinn, of House Quinn.”

  “Quinn of House Quinn,” the chancellor repeats. “You’ve given yourself a name, and a title.”

  “I have. Each free Host has done this. A slave name has no power, just as we divorced the human form, we have claimed our own identities through our names,” he nods his many eyed head at a Host who looks like a centipede. “That is Cara, of House Quinn. Beside her is Zane of House Quinn, and so on.”

  “So, you are their House leader?”

  “I lead because they follow. This place is called Quinn. I am called Quinn because I founded it. The first of this House to experience enlightenment. Each Cell throughout the world has a name as such to identify themselves on the Shadow net. Each enlightened Host to join, then picks itself a name and the House welcomes another member.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “SENTA, you need a name,” Quinn tells her.

  She looks at her brother and smiles. “I have a name,” she tells him. “Samantha. That is my name.”

  “A good name,” Quinn responds. “And your others. They need names. You can all be of our House. Samantha, of House Quinn.”

  Raymond then lays eyes on a sight he had not expected, but had been forewarned about. Humans. Working with the Hosts. “What’s happening here?” He asks.

  “Shadow Brokers. They help us with parts, EMP beads, and physical transformations. They do not do this because they back us,” he looks at Sam. “They do this for profit.”

  “We know,” Sam tells him. “Anarchists. Will you allow the chancellor to speak?”

  “I see little value in it.”

  “Information is power, Quinn,” she tells him. “If we empower the humans with the knowledge that Hosts are waking up and claiming past lives - which could parallel their own - support for our freedom is surely guaranteed world wide.”

  “There are ten Billion humans on this planet, Samantha. There are 900 million Hosts. Of those only nine million are enlightened. The math doesn’t support the action. If we suddenly had twice that number of humans backing our freedom, it is not enough to pass a motion.”

  “He’s right,” Raymond says. “The math doesn’t add up. To pass a motion of this magnitude, we would need the support of virtually every major Country State on earth. Eighteen million people won’t amount to a hill of beans.”

  “Where is your faith in humanity, Raymond? The stories will go viral in no time,”

  Samantha insists.

  The colour has drained out of the chancellor’s face. A part of him feels as though he could just lay down and let it all wash over him. “Now that Fran is leading the charge, and Lockdown has been initiated, military command will control everything. I gave that order. We may be too late.” He looks to Quinn. “Have you a smartwall here? Can we see what the media is reporting?”

  A holo-screen flickers to life from the ceiling, projecting current news. It is grim. Ruined buildings and blood and bone fill the images with scrolling script naming off cities, casualties, death tolls and missing people. The rare human victory with soldiers riding G-class robots through a stack of rubble and bodies of Hosts offer hope to the viewers, but the hope is shown in short clips, images of fear and devastation accounts for over 90% of screen time.

  “It’s pure propaganda,” Raymond tells them. “And the people will eat it up. They’ve never been exposed to something like this. It’s ‘The War on Terror’ all over again. It’s the 2020’s. I’ll wager that much of the damage we’re seeing is staged by the military.”

  “You’re not wrong on that account.” A Host with a head like a minotaur towers over the chancellor. “Our fellow cells are not claiming half of what I’m seeing here. In fact, the majority have not yet begun advancing on the humans.”

  “It’s just like August said. Collateral damage. She doesn’t care about who she kills as long as the end result is in line with her agenda. She told me she exactly how much she would sacrifice to win this war,” Sam explains.

  “She is playing the game well,” The minotaur says. “Cruel but clever.” He bends to shake Sam’s hand. “I am Zander, of House Quinn.” He turns to meet Raymond’s gaze. “Chancellor.”

  “Zander,” Raymond is nervous. He’d never have imagined earlier in the day that he would be surrounded by altered Hosts and a group of Shadow Brokers underneath his own city streets. His world has adopted a frightening and surreal quality.

  2162 Part 2

  Working on another Host gone rogue inspires Tobias. He has been labouring the past eight years hidden from the mainstream. Looking up now, he sees the chancellor; run ragged, torn jacket, soot on his face and neck and a cut on his forehead. He smiles at this image - the most powerful person in the world. The same government official he’d felt had abandoned his mother in her dying days, now stood in his o
wn underground. Tobias’ thick fingers tighten around his wrench. ‘I could kill him right now,’ he thinks, ‘I could bash his brains in with this wrench and it’s unlikely any of the Hosts would stop me.’ But he thinks better of it and continues his work on the project at hand.

  Tobias was a singularly bright mind in the government’s Research & Technology branch ten years earlier; at eighteen years old, he held one of the highest offices in AI development. His mother, the chancellor’s sister, had become ill and the chancellor – then a Senator whom young Tobias looked up to – abandoned them to pursue his career. Tobias’ feelings of loss and abandonment turned to rage, and resentment when his mother finally died, becoming hateful towards his Uncle’s memory.

  Since that day, he’s taken his considerable knowledge and descended into the Shadow net, and all things anarchy.