Society of the Mind

by Eric L. Harry

  Just before reaching the line of battle, she crouched behind an upended Model Six. The Model Eights in the phalanx were being pummeled by the raised legs of a dozen angry spiders. They thrust their welding torches outward in great lunges, and sparks flew as they made contact with the Sevens. Crippled spiders tried to limp away on three legs, and fresh comrades moved forward to take their places.

  All of a sudden Laura felt a presence. Slowly she raised her head to look up. The viselike claw of the overturned Model Six opened soundlessly, hovering in the air above her. It was coiled and ready to strike.

  The searing sound of burning air announced the approach of a Model Eight: It had disengaged from the line and strode purposefully toward the Model Six. Its torch slashed at the air as if to draw the attention of the one-armed robot.

  Flame burst from the side of the computer center, and a streaking rocket snaked out of the smoke. In a flash the rocket hit the Model Eight.

  A thudding whoomp stunned Laura momentarily, and the sky lit up with a bright flash from the missile's explosion. The thunderous report echoed across the open field, and when the smoke cleared… the Model Eight marched on. Its right arm was missing, but in its left it held the burning torch.

  The Model Six's arm shot like a cobra toward the Model Eight.

  It latched right onto its face with the sound of crunching metal. Halted in its tracks and staggering, the Model Eight raised the torch and began to cut. Sparks flew from the Model Six's slender limb, and molten metal began to drip to the ground. The Model Six twisted and turned the Eight's head with its claw.

  With a gush of fluid, the long arm was suddenly severed. The Model Six swung the remaining stub to ward off its attacker, which for its part stumbled back with the vise still clinging to its face. The Eight returned the torch to its holster by feel, then reached with its gripper to seize the Model Six's claw. Seeming to hesitate for a moment, as if gathering itself for the effort, it slowly began to pull.

  The sound of the tearing metal was too awful for Laura to bear.

  She jammed the heels of her hands hard against her ears. The severely wounded robot tried desperately to remain standing, staggering this way and that as if dizzy or drunk. There was a loud screech, and the Model Eight dropped the claw to the ground. To her horror Laura saw that half its face was still caught in the severed appendage.

  Slowly, the stricken robot wandered away from the battle lines toward the rear. His remaining arm groped in front searching for obstacles.

  Another flame erupted from the computer center wall.

  "No-o-o!" Laura screamed as the rocket streaked out of the smoke.

  Flame shot straight through the Model Eight's chest. Its "brains" were blown onto the ground, the burning cold of the liquid nitrogen boiling off the grass in sizzling vapor.

  The Model Eight crumpled onto its knees, falling lifeless to the ground in a contorted heap.

  Sobbing, she rose to her feet. Was it Bouncy, or Hightop, or Auguste? Laura thought. She sprinted past the smoking, twisted corpse of the magnificent machine — the eighth wonder of Gray's new world.

  Laura thought nothing now, she just ran. She ran straight through the whirring electric motors. Straight through the flying sparks and rending collisions and acrid fumes of industrial hell. She ran past the noise and the anger and the insanity.

  Laura was crying so hard she was taken by surprise when someone pulled her to the ground.

  She shut her eyes and screamed.

  "It's all right," she heard Gray say over the noise. "You're safe now."

  She kept her eyes closed as if trying to fall asleep. Amid the maelstrom Laura felt his hand brush the hair from her forehead.

  His fingers slowly traced a gentle line down her cheek. His palm lay flat against her face, lingering at the corner of her mouth. Her lips pressed back against his warm skin.

  When she opened her eyes, the terrors of the battlefield were gone. She studied the man who cradled her. He peered down at her from above. His lips seemed to be forming words. "Don't worry, don't worry."

  41

  Everyone listened in rapt attention to the unprecedented speech.

  Gray was explaining to his team what was happening. "Laura's Model Three was controlled by the Other. The Model Seven that it ran into was controlled by the computer. The two halves maintain separate world models on opposite sides of the partition. Neither robot sees what the other one sees, so they both thought the road ahead was clear."

  His department chiefs nodded their heads slowly.

  Hoblenz spoke up. "The computer on our side of the partition has been sendin' out Model Sixes and Sevens to do some reconnoitering. Prob'ly tryin' to fill in some gaps in its sensor coverage. We've spotted 'em roamin' all over the island." He turned to Laura. "You must've run into a patrol."

  "What happened after the collision?" Gray asked Laura.

  "First I have a question," she replied. "How long does it take the robots to recharge?"

  Griffith looked at his watch and answered. "The Sixes take two hours but they have to decharge first for up to half an hour to avoid damaging their battery cells. The Sevens take four and a half hours, including normal decharge."

  "What about the Eights?"

  "They don't decharge. It takes them an hour to recharge — tops."

  Hoblenz shook his head. "That battle out there was fought to a draw, but wars are won by logistics. The army that can redeploy the fastest with the most ease will win, and those charging times are the key."

  "But the Model Eights don't have as many chargers," Griffith commented, "and they have to make their way back through the jungle to get to their facility."

  "Oh, please don't throw me in the briar patch," Hoblenz said sarcastically. "Those damn Eights eat that jungle up."

  "Why are you all so down on the Model Eights?" Laura asked.

  They looked at her as if she were crazy.

  "I hate to point out the obvious," Filatov said, "but they did just attack the computer center." He turned to Hoblenz. "And you thought that spy was our problem!"

  "Maybe he was! Maybe he planted some kind of timed-release virus in their metal skulls that makes 'em go all violent!"

  "What happened after the wreck?" Gray asked again.

  She told them about the Model Seven assisted suicide.

  "You pulled the main power breaker?" Griffith asked in alarm. "That flushes the charge!"

  "It was suffering," Laura said.

  "It's a machine!" Griffith shot back.

  "A machine that was in pain!" Laura shouted, shaking her head in amazement. "Don't you know what you've built here? Each of those robots has goals and ambitions. They strive every day to work harder, because that's what you've programmed them to do — work! Performing well is what makes them happy, and when that Model Seven saw its legs strewn all around, it felt pain! Pain that it was so mangled. Pain that it would never, ever again be able to feel the pleasure of working for the Gray Corporation! You should all be so proud."

  "You're being too harsh, Laura," Gray said.

  "Well, why can't they see this?"

  "Because they're not ready yet," Gray replied, flooring her.

  But I am? Laura heard him to mean and was shocked.

  "What happened next?" Gray asked in a patient but firm tone.

  After taking a moment to compose herself, she told them about the soldiers.

  "Sailors," Hoblenz said. "They're SEALs."

  "So the Model Eights are hurting humans," Dorothy said.

  "We don't know it was a Model Eight that fought with them," Laura shot back.

  "What next?" Gray asked, demanding facts.

  She told them about Hightop rescuing her from the juvenile and described the amputations by the road. She then gave an account of Hightop cabling up to the Model Eight from the china shop.

  "They were discussing strategy!" Griffith said, beaming with pride. "Complex organizational behavior! Common planning! Sharing and communicating and coming
to a consensus! Collaborative mission statements, communicated widely."

  "Or allegiance to a supreme dictator," Margaret suggested.

  "Can I say something?" Dorothy asked, and Gray nodded. "It seems like the Model Eights are trying to exercise some sort of self-restraint. I mean, they rescued Laura. At least that seems to constitute responsible behavior."

  "Let's give 'em a good-citizenship award," Hoblenz snapped, "then I'll cut the bastards down with antitank missiles. Next time I get 'em out in the open, Mr. Gray, I'd like permission to shoot."

  "Permission denied," Gray said.

  "Sir, we got a situation on our hands — a security situation. Those big mothers are a menace, and I think we oughta take 'em out. I'd go up into their facility if you wanted, but I sure would like to do it at standoff ranges. The whole program's a bust, sir. Let me terminate it for you."

  "You can save your breath, Mr. Hoblenz," Laura said. "Mr. Gray isn't going to let you." Gray looked at her but said nothing. "He has to maintain the natural balance in the island's ecosystem, you see. He's afraid to kill off one species of robots because of the imbalance that might leave. You want a balance between predators and prey. You saw what it was like in that field out there. I ran across it in the middle of their battle, and those robots couldn't care less about me. They were too preoccupied with their own concerns."

  "So," Hoblenz said, clearly aggravated, "you don't want me to kill off the Model Eights 'cause once they're gone the Sixes and Sevens might turn on us." Gray didn't respond.

  "He doesn't know," Laura supplied, and Gray again turned to her and waited. "He doesn't know which way things are going to break. That's why he wants balance. It keeps his options open."

  "This is ridiculous," Hoblenz said, pressing his hands down on the table. "Those things are dangerous, sir! You cain't trust 'em."

  "How did you get through the jungle?" Gray asked Laura.

  "I rode Hightop piggyback."

  "What?" Hoblenz shouted.

  Dr. Griffith laughed in delight.

  The telephone rang, and they all jumped. Gray reached over and punched the speakerphone. "Hello?"

  "Good evening, Mr. Gray?" a woman said in a whisper.

  "Janet?" Gray leaned closer to the phone. "You were on the list for the last flight out. Where the hell are you?"

  "I'm at the house, sir," she whispered. "I changed my mind. It wasn't right to leave you. I'm cooking your dinner… at least I was."

  Gray was now on his feet, both hands pressed down on the table.

  "Why are you whispering, Janet?"

  "There's someone in your kitchen, Mr. Gray. I think it's a robot."

  42

  Laura and Gray argued heatedly all the way up the computer center steps. "Well, I'm going to walk up the mountain, then!" Laura shouted. "Would you prefer that?"

  "You're not going," Gray said amid the soldiers manning the sandbags at the top of the stairs. All of them warily eyed the open fields and jungle walls, weapons raised.

  "Mr. Hoblenz, place Dr. Aldridge under arrest."

  Laura's jaw dropped open. Hoblenz did nothing.

  "Mr. Hoblenz?" Gray snapped.

  "I'd feel better havin' her along, to tell you the truth, sir," Hoblenz said. "If… if she wants to come, that is."

  Gray ground his teeth, trying but failing to stare the man down. "Get her a weapon!" he snapped angrily, pulling the bolt back on a machine pistol he'd been handed, to chamber a round.

  Hoblenz handed Laura an identical weapon. "I don't want this," Laura said.

  "If you're going with us," Gray said sternly, "you're taking a weapon!"

  "I mean I want a bigger one. One of those rifles," she said, pointing at the long black weapons held by the soldiers at the walls. "The computer said that the big guns were the only ones that could get through the Model Eights' skin," she explained.

  Hoblenz hesitated, then went and got two rifles from a box — one for Laura and one for himself. Crates full of equipment lay everywhere, their lids on the ground beside them. Soldiers continued to fill sandbags for the walls, which were growing to respectable heights around the entrance.

  "Get one for me, too," Gray said, handing Hoblenz the puny machine pistol in exchange.

  The long weapon was heavy, but Laura held it at the ready like the rest of the black-clad soldiers — one hand on the pistol grip, the other on the plastic guard around the barrel.

  Hoblenz pried a heavy black belt lined with thick pouches over her shoulder. She sagged under its surprising weight. He opened one of the pockets. "You'll be needin' this, Rambo," Hoblenz said.

  He slapped a magazine into the rifle, adding to its weight. He pulled the belt back and flicked the safety on, showing her how to switch the selector to Auto for continuous fire or Semi for single shots.

  "Semi-auto only, if you don't mind. I've got a wife and kids."

  He kept his eye on the road, waiting for their ride to arrive.

  "You have a family?" Laura asked, and was instantly sorry for the tone.

  Hoblenz laughed. "Yeah, can ya believe it? The kids are off at college, and I almost had to break my wife's kneecaps so my guys could rustle the ole gal on that last plane."

  "You have children in college?" Laura asked. He looked too young to have grown kids, but it was hard to tell with outdoorsmen types.

  "One of 'em took your class last year, as a matter of fact."

  "They're at Harvard?" she asked, this time making sure the surprise didn't show.

  "My youngest is. Followin' in his old man's footsteps. Plays nose tackle."

  "At Harvard?"

  "We do have a football team, ya know."

  Gray arrived with all his gear now in place. "Hoblenz was all-Ivy League," he said with a smile.

  Hoblenz tugged at the straps of Laura's ammo belt and stood back to admire his new soldier. "Anyway, Billy said you're a helluva teacher. Best he's ever had."

  "Billy H. Billy Hoblenz!" Laura said. "Big guy? Red hair?"

  Jeeps raced down the road from the Village.

  "That's my boy!" Hoblenz replied with a grin. The vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the computer center, and a team of soldiers headed to the road to climb aboard.

  Laura followed. They had to wait as Hoblenz's men mounted a heavy gun to a post rising from the back of their jeep. The thing looked like a machine gun, but its barrel was thick and stubby.

  "When you did the security check on me," Laura asked, "did you talk to your son?"

  Hoblenz chuckled. "Of course."

  "What did he say?"

  "Well," Hoblenz looked away, "like I said, he tol' me you were a damn good teacher."

  "Anything else?" she asked.

  Hoblenz shrugged, appearing to hesitate before looking Laura in the eye. "He said you were a piece, I believe was the word he used."

  "Does the computer know he said that about me?"

  "No! 'Course not."

  "How did you talk to your son? Was it on the phone?"

  Hoblenz squinted. "I don't trust phones."

  "How then?"

  "Encoded E-mail."

  "Over the computer?" she asked, and he nodded. Hoblenz got into the jeep behind the wheel, and Gray took the passenger seat beside him.

  Laura climbed into the back with two soldiers. When the engine growled to a start, she leaned forward and tapped Hoblenz's broad shoulder.

  "When did you do your check on me?"

  He looked around to make sure the second jeep was ready to go. "A few months ago."

  "A few months ago?"

  Hoblenz ground the gears, and the vehicle lurched forward.

  Gray never looked over at her… but he was listening. They took off toward the Village. Her jeep with Gray, Hoblenz, and the two soldiers was followed by a second jeep similarly manned.

  The jeep in back, however, had one of the antitank missile launchers mounted on it.

  Laura looked up at the soldier standing beside her. His eyes were covered with night-vi
sion goggles. "What is that thing?" she asked in a loud voice, pointing at the thick-barreled machine gun.

  "Automatic grenade launcher!" he replied over the loud noise. She nodded knowingly. "Shoots these things!" He twisted a belt studded with stubby, bullet-shaped projectiles about the width of Laura's wrist.

  Laura arched her eyebrows and nodded again.

  The warm air felt cool as they sped up the boulevard toward the statue. Gray leaned over and asked Hoblenz, "Have all the SEALs pulled back off the island?"

  "Yep. There were six teams best I can tell. Must've come in on mini subs 'cause we didn't see any landing craft. They might've come in through the window, but they left through the front door. Those surface ships put boats ashore at the harbor and recovered ever' last one of 'em."

  "You mean they all just left?" Laura interrupted.

  "Looks like it. Right after those firefights in the empty quarter."

  "Why?"

  "Must've seen a ghost, is my guess."

  "The robots?" Laura asked.

  Hoblenz looked over his shoulder at Laura and then rolled his eyes at Gray.

  They passed through the Village and headed up the mountain, passing the wreckage of several robots. The further they went from the Village, the darker the night seemed to grow. There was total silence as the jeeps ascended the mountain, save the call Gray placed to Janet.

  She had taken a cellular phone and was hiding in her bedroom closet. The jeeps' headlights lit the narrow gorge through the high walls of vegetation. The jungle pressed so close that Laura could almost touch it. So close that someone — something — could almost reach out and grab her.

  When they arrived at the black opening of the tunnel, Hoblenz pulled the jeep onto the sidewalk and stopped. The soldier above Laura ducked as the branches slapped at his helmet. She looked into the dark, dank jungle not six inches from her shoulder. The air was thick with the smell of rotting things.