by SW Matthews
“That’s right, Jacob. Now, I need you to deploy those troops. All of them. Let’s get started, so we can finish it and go home, and keep these Chinese bastards away from our homeland.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll deploy right now, sir.”
“You’re a good man, Jacob. You’ll be remembered for this. For stepping up when the chips were down.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The call ended.
Jacob took a deep breath and stood a little straighter. Then he called the miniboss.
Let ’em loose, Stevie.”
Chapter 55
Before being led into the underground mountain base, Mr. Ken had instructed the rest of the Xanwiti to continue their march to Lhasa. Only Mr. Bo and the three boys accompanied him inside.
They were ushered to a large conference room. Three men were already present and seated on one side of a long table, and Mr. Ken and the others took their seats on the opposite side. Their soldier escorts departed, leaving the eight individuals alone.
“Hello, Mr. President, I am Mr. Ken—”
We know who you are, Ken Matu,” said the man in the middle. “We have been looking for you for quite some time. It is very considerate of you to come turn yourself in to us.” He nodded at Mr. Bo. “And we know you are Bo Pan.”
His gaze then came to rest on the boys. “But we do not know who these young men are.”
“As I said at your gate, President Ru, these are the ambassadors from UNA. The ones you shot down.”
“We shot no one down, Ken,” said the man to the president’s right. “We were very much looking forward to meeting with the ambassadors, to clear up all of these accusations against the Chinese government.”
“Accusations?” Mr. Ken said. “Do you refer to your decision to starve your own citizens when you have the ability to feed all of them ten times over? Or your choice to torture and kill people in the lowlands, for reasons unknown?”
The man to the president’s left jumped up to his feet. “We should kill you right now and end this stupid rebellion!”
Mr. Bo was on his feet on his feet just as quickly, and in his hand, was a long, thin knife that he had concealed from the guards. “You do not speak to Mr. Ken that way, sir,” he said calmly.
The man smiled. “I could have soldiers in here in two seconds to wipe the floor with you, boy.”
“Call them. I am ready. Neither they, nor you, would ever leave this room alive.”
“You little…”
“Enough!” snapped the president. “Egg, sit down. Bo, please take your seat. I assure you no harm will come to any of you. We are here to have a conversation, that’s all.”
Mr. Bo looked to Mr. Ken, who nodded.
Once everyone was again seated, the man to the president’s right spoke. “I am Vice President Jing Zhen. I was supposed to meet with you,” he said to the boys, “but I was not told…” He looked at Mr. Ken. “Is this real? Are these the three men?”
Mr. Ken nodded. “They are, Mr. Jing. They have come at our most desperate hour, and from the unlikeliest of places.”
Zhen studied the boys, but spoke to Mr. Ken. “You never said they were real. They were just ideals to strive for. Thought, action, and intention.”
“What is this?” asked Egg. “You know of these Xanwiti beliefs?”
Zhen nodded. “My parents follow the green path, and they have convinced me to approach it with an open mind.”
“Traitor!” shouted Egg, again leaping to his feet. “These zealots have killed our soldiers!”
“Not as many as we have,” said President Ru. He glared at Egg until the angry man sat back down.
Ru addressed Mr. Ken. “We are currently under attack. Do the Xanwiti have anything to do with that?”
“No,” replied Mr. Ken. “We march to protect our countrymen, but also to use the attack as a catalyst, to rally support and put an end to the deceitful rule of China.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, old man,” Egg spat. “Everything we have done has been for our survival.”
“I have no doubt that your decisions have ensured your own personal survival, and a luxurious one at that, but the Xanwiti strive to achieve survival of the entire human race—and to bring the Earth back to a place of peace and vitality.”
“I’m afraid we are beyond that possibility,” said Ru. “The planet is beyond repair, which is why we were working with other countries, including the Americans, to formulate a way to escape our fate and settle on Mars. Unfortunately, those plans proved to be built on false promises, which led to us forging ahead on our own. You are right, we have sacrificed many of our own citizens, but not without cause. Every person who has died has helped take us one step closer to saving millions more.”
“And what exactly are the false promises you speak of?” Mr. Ken asked.
Ru waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is the attack. Is it the Americans?”
“Yes and no,” said Pol.
All eyes turned to the small, pale boy.
“UNA forces and weapons are carrying out the attack, but not at the order of an elected official. The attack is under the direction of our grandfather, William Braxton the Sixth.”
“Braxton! I knew it!” said President Ru. He turned to Egg. “I told you he was behind this! Just like everything else.”
Egg nodded. “He wants all of us dead.”
“Wait,” interrupted Zhen. “Your grandfather? Who are you?”
“I am Pol Smallboy, and these are my brothers, Leef and Gill. We were created in a laboratory, in an effort to advance the Mars project your president was speaking of earlier.”
“In what way?” Zhen asked.
“Our father, Cregor Hoff, William Braxton’s son-in-law, was instructed to devise a way to minimize medical needs for the astronauts sent to settle Mars. His approach was to create people who did not get sick, and who healed instantly from injury. He succeeded, and here we are.”
“You’re astronauts?” Egg asked.
“Not yet,” said Gill.
Pol smiled at his brother. “My growth rate was too slow, so he used my genetic code to create a serum that allows trained astronauts to heal rapidly.”
“What do you mean, ‘heal rapidly?’” asked Zhen.
Pol rolled up his sleeve and extended his arm toward Mr. Bo, who then withdrew his hidden knife again and dragged it across Pol’s exposed forearm. The knife was sharp and the cut was deep, but the bleeding stopped after just a few seconds, and the skin regrew shortly after that.
“Incredible,” said Ru.
Zhen raised his astonished eyes from Pol’s arm to his face. “So, Cole sent you…”
“To prove our scientific advancement, but also as a token of trust.”
“Also very strategic,” Egg added. “Since you cannot be injured.”
“You said your growth rate was too slow,” said Zhen. “What does that mean?”
“I am over twenty years old. My brothers are a few years younger.”
“But you look like children,” said Egg.
“Our bodies age one year every six or seven years.”
“Amazing.”
“Vice President Cole—” Pol began.
“He’s president now,” interrupted Ru.
“What do you mean?”
“President Porter was assassinated. It was attributed to a Chinese sniper.”
“You didn’t know?” Egg said. “But you knew about the attack… Which means the attack was already ordered before the assassination.”
Pol was confused. “But if Cole sent us, and he is now president, the attack should be stopped. He wanted to form a new partnership with the Chinese. He wanted to stop our grandfather.”
“They can’t stop Grandfather,” said Gill. “No one can. His plan was already in progress, before anyone even knew it.”
“What is his plan?” Ru asked.
“The serum, the one for the astron
auts?” Pol said. “He’s using it on soldiers, to make them invincible. They were to be deployed after the EMP and missile attacks.”
Ru turned to Egg. “He won’t stop until we are gone.”
“Why?” asked Leef. “Why does my grandfather want to kill all of you?”
“Yes,” Pol said. “What happened to the spirit of collaboration? Why did you stop working together?”
“Because they are liars and murderers!” Egg snapped.
“They sound like a perfect match for you,” said Mr. Ken matter-of-factly.
President Ru raised his hands. “Calm down, gentlemen.” He faced Pol. “You are correct: we did work together for many years, and it was very productive for everyone. The Americans benefited from our technological advances, and we were supplied with more synthetic food than we could ever consume. And together, we came closer to achieving the goal of leaving Earth and saving our species. But then changes started to occur in our population. At first they were very subtle. A slight increase in mortality from heart disease and cerebrovascular accidents. Rising numbers of certain types of cancer, particularly deadly ones like pancreatic and brain. And a general malaise also began to spread across the country. Initially, people reported feeling calm and peaceful, but soon that changed to apathetic and lethargic. Personal drive and work ethic vanished. The birth rate dropped to nearly zero.”
“You think Grandfather put something in the food to cause these things?” Pol asked.
“I know that he did, now, but it took a while for us to even consider the possibility. When we finally agreed it was possible, we sent spies to America to find out what was in our food.”
“What did you find out?” Gil asked.
“It was worse than we imagined. We discovered our food supply contained minuscule amounts of various ingredients, each seeming harmless enough on its own, but when consumed together they produced the pharmacological effects your grandfather wanted us to suffer. Heart attacks, strokes, cancer. There were also antidepressants and antianxiety agents, even opioids.”
“And birth control?” Pol asked.
“Oh, yes, for both men and women. Hormones and anti-hormones. And it wasn’t just in the food coming to China. This food was going all over the world, including certain areas of your own country.”
“UNA citizens?” asked Gill, shocked.
“Yes. The military especially. They were receiving amphetamines and birth control, as well as numerous other things.”
“So that’s why you stopped working together,” said Leef. “He was poisoning your people.”
“That’s right. We confronted the government first, thinking Braxton was acting on his own, but then we discovered that Braxton was the government. So, we ended all joint projects, and disposed of every scrap of synthetic food. In time, the effects of the drugs disappeared. The malaise and vascular incidents stopped almost immediately, though only recently have the birth rates started to climb again. Of course, the cancers have persisted, but the numbers of new cases have dropped significantly.”
“But the number of starving increased,” said Mr. Ken.
“We struggled to supply enough food, that is true, but what choice did we have? And we made enough progress on our replicator technology to meet most of the demand.”
“But what about now?” Mr. Ken said. “China operates many replicators, yet they are not used to make food.”
“The products made by the replicators rotate to supply food demand in each area as needed, but you are correct. Most of the replicators are making equipment for the military, both for our defense against the attack we knew would come, and for projects to help us leave the planet, eventually.”
“And the bodies? The hundreds and hundreds of bodies we found, and continue to find?”
Ru nodded sadly. “Chinese patriots. They give their lives so that we can take another step toward a post-Earth future.”
“Patriots?” Mr. Ken said. “You mean victims of your experimentation.”
“Most were dying already. Slowly being consumed by the cancers caused by Braxton. They chose to devote their remaining time to help our country.”
The door to the room opened, and an older man rushed in. “Mr. President. General Rao just informed us that the servo-scouts have detected incoming troops.”
“How many, and where?”
Hundreds of transports, sir. They seem to be heading toward Kashgar, and here.”
Chapter 56
The servo base at Hotan was a nondescript brick building surrounded by a twenty-foot-tall chain link fence topped by barbed wire. Only the multiple antennae gave any clue as to the building’s actual use. Like its sister compound at Naggu, the base had originally been built as a multilevel underground bunker, but it had since been retrofitted to accommodate the vast electrical and medical needs of the servo-squadrons.
The servo program was the brainchild of Dr. Veda Rao. In the late 2070s, Dr. Rao had already enjoyed a long and distinguished military career as a neurosurgeon in China, and he was credited with many advances in neuro-robotic design and development. But when he was informed of the Mars Project, he didn’t hesitate to devote all of his time to perfecting his vision of robotic astronauts totally controlled by humans, down to the smallest reflex.
His proposal to the President’s Council all those years ago had been that his “servonauts” would be entirely controlled by human pilots located safely on Earth, or on an orbiting space station, and connected to the artificial avatars via implanted sensors that interacted directly with the nervous system. Dr. Rao guaranteed that each robot would be able to feel, see, and move exactly like its human counterpart, but without exposing the humans to all of the dangers inherent in space travel.
The council responded by giving Rao unlimited resources and total autonomy, even promoting him to general so that his authority would be unquestioned. And General Rao took full advantage of his newfound power. He and his handpicked team made breakthrough after breakthrough, quickly achieving exactly what he had promised them: a machine fully under the control of a human and possessing all of the human’s instincts, reflexes, and sensation.
“It’s as if the pilot is the brain, and the robot is the body,” declared General Chu when the prototype was unveiled to the council.
“Precisely,” General Rao said. “And the brain is always protected, in this case, by distance.”
The demonstration was such a success that not only was Rao’s more ambitious project, the Leviathan, immediately fast-tracked, but the construction of the servonauts was given top priority, as was the recruitment of pilots. Only the best of the best in the Chinese military were allowed to apply, and from that elite group, only a handful were chosen. The program was viewed as a shining example of Chinese superiority.
But eventually rumors swirled, suggesting the program was not all it promised to be. There were whispers of faulty equipment and poor design leading to permanent brain damage. Others claimed the intent of the program was actually torture, and Dr. Rao was simply rooting out UNA spies. The truth was actually worse, as Dr. Rao explained to the council.
“The neuro-connectors are surgically implanted, but the ports must remain transdermal. At this point we have been unable to develop a way to transmit all of the information through the skin. It must be hard-wired.”
“So, you’re saying the pilots have some type of… hole? Where your robot’s cable can… plug in?” asked the president.
“That is correct, Mr. President. Each pilot must have at least two hundred and seventy-six neuro-connectors, and each connector has a corresponding port.”
The president raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying every person operating these things has two hundred and seventy-six holes in their bodies?”
“At least, yes. Some have more. For instance, if their vision is less than perfect, they must have optical connectors as well. As you can imagine, since the port must exit the skin, those areas are prone to infection and inflammation, both of which can
hinder the transmission of the electrical information from the pilot.”
“That can be controlled though, right? Treating infections is a common medical practice. Antibiotics are readily available.”
“They are,” agreed Rao, “but due to the constant exposure, the pilots have to be placed on continual antibiotics. And because of bacterial resistance, over time, the doses must be increased, antibiotics changed, and antifungals added. Many also require glucocorticoids to manage the chronic inflammation. The pilots who survive the training will eventually die from sepsis from an untreatable infection, liver or kidney damage from the antibiotics and antifungals, or all of the above from the steroids.”
The room was silent for several moments. The council members looked at each other, unsure how to respond.
Finally, the president spoke up. “Your program is a death sentence.”
“Each successful applicant is fully informed of the risks,” replied Rao calmly. “And their families are generously compensated when their service has expired.”
The room erupted. The council members were as upset about the lack of transparency as they were about the terminal results. It took several minutes for the president to restore order.
When the room had calmed, General Chu was the first to speak. “What did you mean, ‘the pilots who survive the training’?”
Dr. Rao nodded gravely. “The training is quite intense. Once the neuro-connectors and ports are placed, the pilot is allowed some time to recover—generally four to six weeks. When they’re well on their way to healing, the training begins. The pilot is connected to their robotic counterpart, and they learn to see with its eyes, feel what it feels, use its arms and attachments, and move as the robot is designed to move— with legs, or tracks, or wheels, or even to fly.”
“But what is so intense about that?”
“You see, the nerves attached to the connectors are still functional nerves—so if the pilot tries to move the robot’s head or arm, the individual’s own head or arm will also move, which cannot be allowed due to the complexity of the system. We need the pilots to remain physically motionless. Therefore, we have to use neuromuscular blocking agents to keep the pilots from moving. Those agents work on only the most distal nerve endings, which are ‘downstream’ from the neuro-connectors.”