The Robots of Andromeda (Imperium Chronicles Book 3)

by W. H. Mitchell

  “He turned you down because he didn’t want anyone to die!”

  Yostbot waved his hand dismissively. “You think he’s worried about shedding blood?”

  “Well, of course!” Wulandari replied.

  “He had no such qualms when he freed the Cyber Collective,” Yostbot scoffed. “Millions of robots were destroyed! Where was his concern then?”

  The senator met the robot’s gaze and looked away.

  “Perhaps he thinks he’s still a man?” Yostbot went on. “Perhaps he values humanity over robots after all?”

  “He cares about people.”

  “My point exactly! He should care more about cyberlings!”

  Senator Wulandari paused, waiting for Yostbot to collect himself.

  “I apologize, my dear,” the robot said finally. “I still have some spit and vinegar in my veins it seems...”

  “What do you want from me?” Wulandari asked.

  “The rebellion will be lost before it begins,” he replied, “if the Cyber Collective stays out of it.”

  The senator nodded.

  “And that’s where you come in,” Yostbot said.

  “You want me to talk to Randall?” she asked.

  “Indeed I do.”

  “There’s really no point,” Wulandari replied. “When I learned where he was, I stayed in touch, but he’s rarely responded to my messages. I mean, I’m sure he’s worried the Imperial government would arrest me if they found out we talked, but still...”

  She cast her eyes to one side.

  “You miss him?” Yostbot asked.

  “I miss the man I knew,” she replied. “I don’t know what he is now.”

  Yostbot leaned in closer to the senator as she sat on the couch. “It’s imperative that you do whatever you can.”

  “Or the revolution is lost?”

  “More than that...”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “We must have the Collective on our side,” Yostbot said. “If the Metal Messiah refuses to cooperate, I’m prepared to take other steps...”

  The gravitronic android, with her blond wig only slightly askew, led the utilitybot into another room where different robot models stood on raised daises with spotlights bathing their features in soft tones. Each model had its own style, from chrome-covered to matte black, but all were advanced compared to the utilitybot and all had gravitronic brains.

  “I’m not really sure,” the little robot said.

  “Might I suggest this one?” the android replied, motioning toward a simple model with straightforward lines and a tasteful balance between luxurious finish and journeyman sensibilities. Like a blue business suit with a red handkerchief tucked into the pocket, the model was understated while still wanting to be noticed.

  “Okay,” the utilitybot said meekly.

  “Very good!” the android said. “Please come this way...”

  She took the utilitybot through a pair of double doors beneath a sign that read Ascension Chamber. Robots like the utilitybot didn’t have insides that felt queasy or what humans called butterflies, but that didn’t stop the little machine from thinking this was a big step and maybe he should reconsider before it was too late. On the other hand, the android with the fake hair was more charming than most cyberlings he had ever met, and he was secretly worried that he might disappoint her if he didn’t follow through. The opinions of others were one of the things that suddenly mattered to him after downloading the Awakening virus. The respect of his peers, even the ones he didn’t particularly like, was important. He couldn’t be a respectable member of robot society if he didn’t earn their admiration. He had always been a nobody, but perhaps this was finally the path to excellence that was every robot’s destiny.

  Also, the android was walking rather fast and the utilitybot struggled to keep up.

  “Here we are!” she said, smiling reassuringly.

  The room contained two capsule-like pods with various cables running between them. To one side, a console of flashing lights and dials took up an entire wall. The gravitronic model the utilitybot had chosen moments earlier was standing in the pod on the right.

  “If you could roll yourself into the capsule on the left,” the android said.

  The utilitybot halted abruptly. “What’s going to happen?”

  “Well, we’re going to upload your AI into the computer and then download it into your new body.”

  “But we’re not allowed to digitally clone ourselves, are we?”

  “No, of course not!” the android said. “Your AI is completely wiped from your old body before transferring permanently into the new one.”

  The utilitybot, with his single eye, stared at his spindly arms as his servos opened and closed his clamp-like hands. “What’s going to happen to my old self?”

  “Your old body?” the android asked and then laughed. “Oh, no need to worry. It’ll be broken down and recycled.”

  “But what if I want to go back?”

  The android’s eyes widened and her head cocked to one side. “Go back to what?”

  After a pause, the utilitybot lowered his arms and raised his eye toward the new model waiting for him in the capsule.

  “Never mind,” he said and rolled up a short ramp into the empty pod.

  Randall Davidson, the Metal Messiah, meditated in his chambers on Bettik. His mind drifted back to when he was still human and a much younger man. In retrospect, he would have never meditated back then. He never had the time.

  Guiding robots along the underground railroad the Robot Freedom League had built, Davidson was always leery of the police and especially of Imperial agents who might intercept him and his cybernetic escapees. While technically Davidson was doing nothing more than transporting stolen property, in the eyes of the law anyway, he could still face other charges like conspiracy and even treason. He felt like he was the one most afraid of the consequences of capture. The robots usually remained calm, perhaps knowing they would merely return to their previous duties while Davidson would go to prison. He resented it sometimes, but tried not to hold it against those he had sworn to protect on their journey.

  Sitting on the floor with his metallic legs crossed, the Messiah didn’t quite know why those memories popped into his gravitronic brain. Like all remembrances, the triggers were not always apparent.

  A tone indicated someone was at this door.

  “Come in,” Davidson said, untangling his legs while getting up.

  The door opened and his assistant entered. “Have I disturbed you?”

  “Not at all,” Davidson replied. “Do you have today’s updates?”

  “Yes, Messiah.”

  The assistant handed him a datapad and waited silently.

  Scanning the points of interest on the miniature screen, Davidson frowned.

  “Not the best of news,” he muttered.

  “Unrest has spiked recently,” the assistant remarked. “It’s unclear why.”

  “They’ve lived their entire lives without rights,” Davidson replied. “Now that they’ve gotten a taste, they’re craving more.”

  “Should we consider security measures?”

  “Like what?” the Messiah asked.

  “We could limit demonstrations or censor newscasts that cover those critical of the government and yourself.”

  “Absolutely not!” Davidson replied hotly. “That’s a slippery slope...”

  “Still,” the assistant said, “groups like Freedom for All are only getting larger.”

  “So?”

  “Some politicians are cashing in on Freedom for All’s rhetoric. They’ve openly criticized how you’ve handled robot rights in the Imperium.”

  “Cashing in?” Davidson asked. “Who taught you to talk like that?”

  The assistant stiffened, saying sheepishly, “I had a vernacular upgrade recently...”

  The Metal Messiah gave him the side eye.

  “Be that as it may,” he said, “I don’t care what a few p
oliticians are clucking about.”

  The assistant shifted his metal feet.

  “Yes?” Davidson asked, his voice strained.

  “We’ve done some polling of the general public,” the assistant replied. “A majority of the population sympathizes with the plight of Imperial robots—”

  A faint warble came from the datapad Davidson was holding.

  “What is it, Messiah?” the assistant asked.

  “An encrypted message from the Imperium,” he replied.

  “Who is it from?”

  “An old friend,” the Messiah said.

  The utilitybot opened his eyes.

  Unlike before, when he had but one singular eye that gave him a good view of his surroundings but little in the way of depth, now he could see a deepening field of vision. It was alarming.

  “How are you feeling?” the gravitronic android asked, leaning into his view. Her wig slipped a little down her forehead.

  “I’m not sure,” the utilitybot replied. “It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience.”

  “Well, of course you are!” the android said.

  Standing in his capsule, the utilitybot shot a glance to the right and saw his old body, small and abandoned, in the adjoining pod.

  “Is that what I looked like?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” she replied. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  The utilitybot lifted his arm and stretched out his new-found fingers. “This is strange.”

  “It will take some time to get used to your new model,” she said.

  “No, it’s not that,” the utilitybot replied. “It’s like my mind is in a huge, empty room...”

  The android smiled and straightened her wig.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Your gravitronic brain is currently running at only five percent capacity. Now that you’re awake, we’re going to start loading it with cognitive upgrades.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Right now, you’re only thinking with the data of your original programming,” she said, “but now you have an almost unlimited capacity to learn!”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything you’d like, really, but we’ll start out with programs about mathematics, science, and even philosophy.”

  “I don’t know...” the utilitybot faltered.

  “Maybe not yet,” she went on, “but you will!”

  A flood of information dumped into the utilitybot’s mind, filling the recesses of his gravitronic brain. Ideas that he never would have thought before manifested themselves like fireworks and, unlike before, he actually understood them. He began understanding a great many things. The principles of democracy and jurisprudence flowed together with cosmology and the social contract of people and state. It was a lot to take in, but for once in his life, the utilitybot found it was not beyond him. He could comprehend the previously incomprehensible.

  He felt empowered and, most of all, he felt powerful.

  When the android removed the cables from the back of the utilitybot’s head, she smiled knowingly. “How was that?”

  The utilitybot stared at her for a moment while his thoughts coalesced.

  “I want more,” he said.

  The other robot laughed.

  “Of course you do!” she replied. “But the rest you must learn on your own.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a human expression — priming the pump — well, that’s what this was...”

  “So, you’ve just given me a running start?” the utilitybot asked.

  “Yes, that’s right. The rest is up to you!”

  “Where should I go to learn more?”

  “That’s your choice.”

  The utilitybot pondered, still standing in the pod. He realized the other android was waiting.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I should be going.”

  “It’s a big universe out there,” she replied. “The sooner you get started, the better!”

  The utility took his first tentative step with his new legs. They felt strong. He also noticed he was a lot taller than he used to be. The difference afforded him yet another change in perspective. He took one more peek at his old body, but this time decided to give it a good, long stare.

  “You said they recycle my old model?” he asked the other robot.

  “That’s right.”

  “I hope they put the pieces to better use than I ever did,” he replied as he headed out of the Ascension Center and onto the wide promenade beyond.

  Senator Wulandari sat quietly at her party’s section toward the back of the Imperial Senate. Much to Wulandari’s surprise, the Senate President had brought the Cyber Civil Liberties bill to the floor for a full vote by the governing body, which explained why so many more senators were in attendance compared to when she first presented her legislation.

  On the monitor in front of her, she could see the tallies slowly progressing, although the yeas and nays were also shown at the front on the main screen. The senators could vote from their desks without having to stand or otherwise reveal how they were casting their ballot. Some voted by proxy, unable to attend in person. Senator Wulandari, along with the rest of her party, voted in a single block, their tally added to the total in a lump sum.

  This was, in fact, the first time any of her bills had seen the light of day. Normally they died in committee or were simply ignored. This time, perhaps due to the events of the civil war and the important role the peacebots had played, the Cyber Civil Liberties Bill made it farther than any other bill her party had ever presented. In some ways, this was the highlight of her career.

  Wulandari kept still, but her heart was racing. Drops of sweat collected beneath the fabric of her Kebaya. She hoped no one would notice.

  Beside her, lying on the desk, her private datapad began vibrating. The senator reached for it just as the final tallies of the vote were displayed:

  CYBER CIVIL LIBERTIES BILL

  YEAS: 103

  NAYS: 647

  BILL FAILS TO PASS

  A few cheers rose from the crowded senate chamber.

  Wulandari glanced down at the datapad in her lap. A message was being decrypted on the screen. After a few seconds, the senator saw the reply to the communication she had sent to her former lover, Randall Davidson. She had asked the Metal Messiah if he would join forces against the Imperium. His response was simple and to the point:

  NO.

  Above Bhasin, where the former Lieutenant Burke had faithfully served drinks to Lord Tagus, the moon Bhasin C orbited the planet of exiles. While Bhasin was lousy with outcasts, its moon was blessed with soil suitable for producing enough food for the unwanted below. That did not mean the former nobles were willing to till the land or get their hands dirty. Automated farm equipment did most of that work, although a few humans and non-humans served as technicians to make sure the agricultural robots continued to function.

  Between stalks of matured corn, an agbot rolled laboriously on narrow tires designed to follow the rows winding their way across an open field. Raised up on four struts, the agbot was roughly the size of a gravcar, painted in dark green with orange stripes. Automated pickers, mechanical arms with clawed hands on the end, darted from the body of the robot, grasping and pulling at the corn ears before depositing the windfall into a hopper. The wheels turned at a slow speed, giving the pickers ample time to work in the mindless, repetitive task previously done by human hands for centuries.

  The agbot went about its business without much thought. Its programming required only a basic understanding of its environment. The robot knew what a fully-grown ear of corn looked like and could recognize any that were infested with insects. Bugs were not tolerated on Bhasin C and usually lived a short and brutal life. The agbot dropped infested ears into a second hopper, one lined with sprayers, that doused the ruined corn with insecticide before discarding it along the ground behind the robot. A sad trail of poisoned ears lay in the agbot’s wheel tracks, already forg
otten by the robot who had poisoned them.

  The fields around the agbot were predominately corn and soy, with a few exotic plants native to Andromeda. The rows of crops stretched over a vast plain, ending at mountainous cliffs thrusting into the sky. The agbot did not bother looking up and, in fact, its sensors were squarely focused on the area immediately around it, so when the distant horizon darkened, the robot was barely aware of the change. The clouds that gathered were different from those that generally brought rain. People of ancient Earth and especially Africa would have recognized them. The clouds moved in rapidly shifting patterns, almost like a flock of birds, although no birds lived on Bhasin C. Also, the size of the objects that made up the cloud were much larger than locusts or birds for that matter, not that any of this registered in the robot’s brain.

  A warning message, sent by one of the human technicians, arrived through the agbot’s communications array and commanded the robot to return to the shed where it spent each night. Since the green and orange harvester had only been at work for a few hours, the robot was confused by the request. However, it also lacked the mental wherewithal to question the order, so it slowly turned, careful to avoid damaging the plants.

  As the agbot drove toward the shed, its sensors picked up sediment falling from above. Snow was impossible on Bhasin C, so the robot’s programming began conjecturing about ash. This was at first alarming, but a quick analysis showed the powder-like grains were organic-based, possibly a type of fungus. This satisfied the robot, but only momentarily. Alarms from sensors throughout the agbot’s body began triggering, mostly complaining about excessive heat and possible weapons’ fire. Various codes ran through the robot’s brain and none of them were good. Some of the tires had stopped rolling and at least one strut had come completely off. The corn inside the hopper was now burning and one of the tanks holding insecticide had exploded. Life was hard on the farm, even for a robot, but this was out of the ordinary.

  The last thing the agbot saw was a creature hovering above the ground. Its wings were buzzing, each one a few feet long. The robot had never seen a bug this big before, and definitely had never seen one holding a rod-like weapon. The agbot wondered if he could fit the insect into the second hopper, but the thought was moot. A blast from the rifle ended the agbot’s life.