The Installed Intelligence Trilogy Collection

by Phoenix Ward

  Battalion

  King Hum received what he could only describe as a general’s welcome from the people of Battalion. A good portion of them were civilians — indeed, at least half — but the collection of military bases that made up the faction were under the control of soldiers. King Hum arrived at the bunker that acted as the group’s headquarters, adjusted his wrappings, and walked out to a red carpet. Along each side was a line of soldiers, all facing the carpet with statuesque stillness.

  The Opesian king hesitated a moment before emerging. None of the soldiers met his eyes, which unnerved him as he made his way down the carpet.

  Looking past them, he could see they were in the middle of an airfield designed for the takeoff of jet fighters. The pavement below his robotic feet was devoid of any cracks, divots, or pits. King Hum saw a young soldier repairing part of it as he walked.

  Military discipline, he thought.

  Beyond the worker, on the edges of the airstrip, were enormous beige hangers. All but two had their bay doors closed. One was empty, but the other held an aircraft so large, it made the Union’s gunships look like hummingbirds. Surrounding the airfield was a simple wire fence and about three dozen antiaircraft turrets. The dual-barreled guns sat dormant, pointed up at the heavens while basking in the sun.

  At the end of the carpet was a middle-aged man with dark skin and a gray-streaked mustache. His expression was flat and stoic, further aided by the aviator sunglasses he wore. King Hum met his eyes for the last stretch of his walk.

  “Major Danib?” the young monarch asked.

  “That’s correct,” the man with the sunglasses replied. He wore a few medals and pins on his uniform, the meanings of which Hum couldn’t divine.

  “I am King Hum of the Holy Kingdom of Opes,” Hum said, extending his hand.

  The major shook it. “Glad to have you, your grace. We don’t usually get visits from foreign officials, let alone royalty.”

  “These aren’t usual times,” King Hum replied.

  Major Danib turned away and beckoned Hum to follow him. “Let’s take a walk,” he suggested.

  “It’s quite an impressive facility you have here,” King Hum commented, gazing around at the warehouse as they strolled through the aisles. Most of the things on the shelves were alien to the Opesian. Some looked like weapons, others like pieces of bodyshells, and everything else looked like random chunks of metal, polymer, and wires. What stood out to him, however, was how clean the place was.

  “We keep a tight ship around here,” Danib replied. He held his hands together behind his back while they walked, also admiring the facility.

  “To be honest, I don’t even know what half of this equipment is,” Hum said.

  “It’s reclaimed tech,” the major started. “We’ve been trying to get as much of the military’s pre-war gear as possible — or, at least, keep it out of the wrong hands. All of this once belonged to the United States government, and now it’s back where it belongs.”

  “The United States?” Hum asked. He was familiar with the term, but couldn’t see its relevance.

  “Our country, your grace,” Major Danib said. “Indivisible, once. And so it shall be again.”

  “I thought you identified as the Battalion,” Hum said. “Not as the United States.”

  “The full term is the ‘Battalion and First Defense of the United States of America’,” Danib replied. “But that doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as well, does it?”

  They took a few steps farther before Danib looked back the young monarch. He had removed his shades, so Hum could see him scan the linen wrappings that covered his false body.

  “You look like you’ve seen combat before,” the major commented. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

  King Hum’s jaw tightened. “The Council happened, major,” he answered. “They did this to me. To my body.”

  Danib lowered his gaze a little, his face somber. “My apologies, your grace,” he said. “I know what it’s like to have a bit of you taken away.”

  The major gestured for them to stop and rolled up his left pant leg. Hum’s eyes lit up as he saw the mechanical frame connecting his shoe to the rest of his body.

  “Also courtesy of the Council,” Danib said before rolling the cloth back over his prosthetic leg. “We were escorting a civilian caravan on the interstate when they hit us. Multiple fragmentation mortars and rockets. A meat grinder. I’m lucky to have kept as much flesh as I did. A lot of people were much less fortunate than I.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hum said. He straightened his posture. “Why haven’t you gone after the Council, considering what they’ve done? Why not retaliate? You seem to have the hardware.” He gestured at the equipment around them.

  “Because we would be decimated,” the major replied. “We may have the tools, but we don’t have the people, and we don’t have the resources to send the ones we do to war. Besides, our mission takes precedence: to rebuild America, your grace. Part of that means keeping the people out there — all of whom I consider citizens of the United States, by the way — out of a war they can’t win.”

  “We can win, major,” King Hum said. “If we fight united, we can do it. You say you want to rebuild America. According to your own words, we are America. The Council won’t allow us to survive if we don’t put a stop to them.”

  Major Danib turned away for a moment, feigning sudden interest in a thick plastic bauble in order to hide his expression of deep thought. He picked the item up and inspected it as if it was his job to do so.

  “I don’t know, your grace,” he said, his back still turned to the bodyshell. “It’s not an easy matter, sending your people to war.”

  “Believe me, I know,” King Hum replied.

  Major Danib put the bauble down and turned back to face the Opesian. “I suppose you do,” he said. “Still, I’m just not ready to take the risk.”

  Hum hung his head and simulated taking a deep breath. Then he looked down at his wrappings.

  “May I show you something, major?” he asked.

  Major Danib didn’t reply.

  King Hum pinched a bit of the linen between his thumb and forefinger and unwrapped it from his other arm. Once the servos, gears, plastic, and metal were revealed, Danib gasped. He looked over King Hum’s form, then back at the robotic arm.

  “Your whole body is like this?” he asked. Then realization hit him. “You’re an installed intelligence.”

  “Yes, and all because of a lie the Council dreamed up,” the king said. “They used my faith against me and denied me access to God. I’ll never be able to join the great spirit of the Earth, if our religion is true. They took more than life from me. They took eternity.”

  Major Danib swallowed, but remained silent as he sized up the I.I. king.

  “We need your help, major,” Hum said.

  Slowly, Danib nodded. He was truly shaken by Hum’s account; his voice failed to come back with its usual strength.

  “You shall have it,” the major said. He cleared his throat and steadied his inflection. “The Battalion is here to serve the people of our country.”

  Warplan

  In the end, all of King Hum’s envoys had been successful. Adviser Orram couldn’t help but thank the spirit of God as he escorted the delegates into the palace’s throne room, which had been converted into a war room. A representative from each nation arrived in Opes that day to discuss the attack on the Council.

  Where there had been the king’s desk, there was now a large table with a map of Shell City and the surrounding ruins laid out upon it. Chairs were assembled around it, and the guests each took one without much of a greeting from King Hum himself. The young monarch stood at the head of the table, his robotic hands palm-down on the surface. He remained standing once everyone was seated and all eyes were on him.

  “Thank you all for coming,” the king said, scanning the faces of the five delegates. “I’ll be honest and say I did not expect half of you to show up.
That alone should be a testament of how important this issue is. We all have a common enemy, and beyond that, a common threat against our very survival. The Council won’t stop at controlling their own cities; those who live around them can see by the expansion into those areas. Something must be done.”

  Nayla, the Ghost leader, raised a mechanical hand. “I don’t mean to interrupt, your grace, but I must ask if you’ve done a security sweep of the throne room. Before we continue, that is.”

  “Of course,” King Hum replied. “We are clean of any dangers here, for the time being.”

  Nayla seemed satisfied with the reply, as did Major Danib and President Euring. Truck and Farmer Ben didn’t seem to be concerned in the first place. No one said anything and the silence grew as Hum measured their reactions.

  “The attack will begin in one week,” King Hum said. “It gives us enough time to prepare but without allowing them time to brace for us. Any longer and our attack will lose potency; we may well lose the war.”

  Everyone around the table, Ethan and Tera included, shuffled uncomfortably when the word “war” was said. Each face was cold and solemn.

  “What’s the plan, then?” Truck asked, locking eyes with the mechanical monarch.

  Hum was silent for a moment as he sized up the room. He seemed to have some internal debate, at the conclusion of which he nodded. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pointed along the outer walls of Shell City.

  “We’ll need to set up a siege outside the city here, to make sure no Council troops come in or out,” he started. “Major, that will be our job. One-third of my troops will join yours along the roads leading into Shell City. We can also establish centers there for any fleeing civilians, which I think the Republic of Orange would be best equipped to handle.”

  President Euring nodded at her nation’s mention.

  “Ben,” Hum continued, looking up at the Gearhead farmer, “you and your guild friends will lead a bombardment on the city walls. We’re not looking to cause a breach so much as to add to the ensuing chaos inside the city.”

  “I can have artillery support help with that as well,” Major Danib commented.

  “Perfect,” King Hum said. He moved his robotic finger up to the gate of the city walls. “Now Truck, I think your people would be best used in the siege as well. The presence of physical invaders might persuade them to spread out their defenses a bit when we come and hit them in the Pavilion.”

  “Actually,” Truck said, trying not to tread on the I.I. king’s toes, “I think I could be of more use inside the walls. My raiders are no strangers to sneaking in and out of the cities; we can send them in to sow chaos on the streets and really diverge their response.”

  King Hum considered Truck’s response and nodded in agreement. “That’s a better idea. Very well,” he said.

  “My people can help on that end,” Nayla spoke up. “If you can show us what their police force looks like, what kind of bodyshells they wear, we could disguise ourselves and sneak in ahead of the attack. That way, we can be in just the right position to strike when the attack begins, maybe even sabotage their defense a bit.”

  “I can’t say my plan is any better than that,” King Hum said, sharing a glance with Adviser Orram. “The more confusion we can create within the city walls, the better.”

  “We can provide bodyshells,” President Euring said, looking over at Nayla’s hooded form. “As well as any other equipment that might be needed. Gunships, I imagine, will be in high demand for the attack on the Pavilion. Ammunition, armor, ordinance — these sort of things. There will be a bill, of course, but we are happy to meet your demands.”

  “Speaking of gunships,” Gauge started after getting a wave to speak from King Hum, “the People’s Union will be taking what we can directly into the Pavilion where the Council lives. There, a volunteer will track down the storage facility that houses the Shell City leadership and mark it for the rest of us to see. We’ve got a radio beacon for just such a purpose. All we need is someone brave enough to rush through the battle and do the deed.”

  Faces shifted to each other, some sheepish, others frightened. There was a bit of murmuring surrounding the table before Ethan cleared his throat.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll mark the facility.”

  Silence fell over the meeting and somber expressions filled the faces. The mood had downshifted, as if someone just broke a bit of terrible news to the room. Ethan looked around with a furrowed brow and confused eyes.

  “Well don’t look like that,” he said. “I’m not even dead yet!”

  His joke fell flat and no one made a sound. He looked down at his lap and pretended he had said nothing.

  The silence went on for a full minute before King Hum made a noise like a small cough.

  “Then it is agreed,” he said. “Alongside Ethan, the bulk of the Opesian army will be dropping in on gunships to engage the Council soldiers on the Pavilion. Hopefully, we can draw enough fire that Ethan slips in unnoticed. Once the beacon is placed, we can focus all artillery on the signal and reduce the Council’s storage facility to rubble. Then — ”

  “Then we hope they surrender,” Gauge cut in. “Because we can’t maintain the attack for long. A few hours at most.”

  The delegates from the other nations seemed to be in deep thought as they looked over the map of Shell City. Ethan shared their melancholic contemplation as he imagined running past the frontlines of the battle into the Council’s formations. Tera looked between the attendants.

  “It’s the best plan we have,” Major Danib commented. “I’m in.”

  “As am I,” Nayla replied.

  Farmer Ben and President Euring gave quick nods while meeting the mechanical king’s eyes.

  Truck smiled a little. “Let’s smash some heads.”

  A Short Refrain

  Adviser Orram tried to make as little noise as possible as he entered the throne room. The young king stood with his back to the door, peering out the far window. The sky was turning orange as the sun sank below the desert horizon. The colorful light reflected off the metal of Hum’s bodyshell. He didn’t have his wrappings on.

  “Did you ever think we’d be marching into war alongside metal men and women?” King Hum asked. He continued gazing out at the growing night, his hands folded behind his back.

  Orram joined the I.I. by the window.

  “I never thought we’d be marching to war at all, your grace,” the old man said. “Or, at least, I never hoped.”

  “Nor I,” Hum replied. “However, the alternative is unimaginable. War is the only right thing to do in this situation. Yet, I can’t help but feel such an aversion to the concept. The idea of killing and dying being necessary is repugnant to me.”

  Orram smiled. “One of the many qualities of an excellent king,” he said.

  “Still, the possible rewards are staggering,” Hum continued, turning to face his adviser. “The liberation of an entire continent is at stake. Not only will we be free of the insidious Council, but we will be able to rebuild. Unify the people, perhaps.”

  “To be the pioneers of such a change, as well,” Orram commented with a twinkle in his eye, “If Opes hasn’t secured its place in history yet, it surely will when we win.”

  A solemn look washed over King Hum’s artificial features. “Will we win, Orram?”

  Deep consideration filled the old man’s face. He locked eyes with his king and nodded. “Yes, your grace,” he answered. “I know we will.”

  “How?”

  “I have faith.”

  Tera knocked at the door frame that led into Ethan’s room, clutching onto a bottle of tequila. She heard some stirring from inside, along with a few groans. For a moment, she was worried she woke the human up, but he arrived at the door fully dressed.

  “Hey,” he said. His eyebrow was cocked in confusion.

  “Hey,” Tera said back. She lifted the bottle so Ethan could see it. “Want some?”

  The teenager fro
wned at it. “Why do you have that?” he asked. “I thought you couldn’t drink.”

  “I can’t — at least, not much,” she replied. “I thought you might want some, though. Considering we might all die tomorrow and all.”

  Ethan swallowed and nodded, then stepped aside so Tera could enter the room. She walked past him, carrying the bottle like it was a spent uranium rod. Ethan followed behind her and took a seat on the bed. She uncorked the bottle and leaned against the wall across from Ethan. With a dismal expression, like he was being coerced to, Ethan gestured for the bottle.

  Tera watched him as he took a long pull, then chuckled when he sputtered and coughed. He almost dropped the bottle, but she rushed in and rescued it.

  “You look like you’re at a funeral,” Tera commented once Ethan regained his composure. “You know, it’s not hopeless. We wouldn’t have been able to find so much help if it was.”

  “It’s not that,” the young man replied.

  The bodyshell cocked her head and waited for him to continue.

  “I don’t know what’s real anymore, Tera,” he said. His eyes welled up with a thin layer of tears, though from the tequila or emotion, Tera was unsure. “They took my sense of reality from me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to shrug off this feeling that I’m just in another simulation. Every time I close my eyes, for a moment, I expect to wake up. For real. And every time it doesn’t happen, I lose a little more of my mind.”

  Tera was silent for a moment. She didn’t know what to say. What words could possibly comfort him? The Council screwed her over as well, but at least she was certain of the world around her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It’ll be them who’s sorry,” Ethan said, raising his angry eyes to meet hers. “If they even exist, that is.”

  “We’ll bring them down, Ethan,” the I.I. said. “Don’t worry. This time tomorrow, Shell City will be free.”