Natural Born : Book Three: Annihilation Series: A Political Technothriller Series

by John Hindmarsh

  Her father had died in an accident eighteen months before, and Victoria still, although silently, mourned him. “Thank you, Mr. Henderson.”

  “Oh, Charles please, if we’re going to be working together.” He turned to Darwin.

  “By a process of elimination, I suspect you’re Darwin. Welcome.” He shook Darwin’s hand. He continued, “Victoria, I’ve read the Stanford year book and did some other research; as a result, I believe I am in the presence of one of this decade’s rising stars. No, don’t diminish genuine praise. I’ve also read your recent article on robotic intelligence measurements and consider it to be a landmark document. Well done. Now,” he turned back to Darwin, “I know almost nothing of you except what I’ve seen on recent television news and chat shows. I must say, your body is very well designed and constructed. I can say things like that without being impolite?” Darwin nodded. “Good. I was impressed with the way you’ve handled yourself in those media events, and with your erudition. Now tell me, what do you think of Judge Christopher Brown’s minority opinion in Tusker vs O’Brien (2012) where he referred to the unanticipated consequences of limitation of actions?”

  Darwin smiled. He said, “Charles, the year was 2011, it was Judge Christine O’Brien, and the case was Tasker vs Brown.”

  Henderson burst into laughter. “Oh, how damned delightful. You’ll do. I assume that wasn’t an exception?”

  “It certainly wasn’t,” Victoria said. “He can astound me, and I thought I was good.”

  “Excellent. Now, are you ready to go visit with Judge Ryan Fisher?”

  Victoria said, “Ready and able.” Darwin nodded.

  “Good. My car’s waiting. Let’s go.” The criminal attorney led the way out of the office.

  Their meeting with the judge was intended to be informal, and the interested parties were assembling in Ryan Fisher’s chambers. The aspidistra in its bronze pot was still near the door. The law books on various shleves appeared to have been undisturbed for years. The prosecutor, Olivia Richards, was already seated. The defense attorney, Gary Gibson, and his client, Wayne McDonald, entered seconds behind Henderson, Darwin, and Victoria. Yesha, the care bot that had been assaulted by McDonald, was absent.

  Judge Fisher, his legal assistant, and his secretary were the last to arrive. The room was crowded. Fisher sat behind his desk and took a moment to look around.

  “Good morning, everyone. Welcome, Charles. I assume your companions are Victoria Zhou, and—” He paused, allowing Henderson to continue.

  “Thank you, Ryan. Yes, Victoria and Darwin are assisting me in this matter. Victoria also represents the Euler Organization.”

  “Hmm. Darwin, I saw you on television on the weekend. Very impressive. Now, everyone, Charles is here potentially as an Amicus Curiae, and needs to convince me he—on behalf of his client—is able to offer information that bears on this case.” Fisher stopped and looked around the room. “Where’s the care bot—Yesha?”

  Olivia Richards answered, “Judge, Yesha was badly beaten again by the defendant and currently is undergoing treatment and a potentially complete rebuild by the Euler Organization.”

  Judge Fisher straightened in his chair. “The defendant has repeated his offense? I assume he’s been charged?”

  Gibson, the defense attorney, appeared stressed. “Yes, your honor.”

  “Hmm. This is getting messy.”

  McDonald raised his voice and complained, “I said last time, I’m being railroaded. A tin can—”

  Fisher stared at the defendant. He said, “While this is an informal meeting, I won’t tolerate your interruptions. At the very least, you need to restrain your temper and your voice. Gary, have you explained to your client—”

  “Everything. Numerous times.”

  McDonald glared at Fisher and turned to his attorney. “Gibson, I’m sick of your preaching. I’m a man, not a freakin mouse. As of now, you’re fired and I’m out of here.” He stood and walked out of the room. The doorstopper dampened his attempted slam.

  “What do you think, Gary?”

  “He said he would fire me. He’s done so. I’m disinclined to attempt to persuade him otherwise.”

  “I understand. I have the hearing—when?” He turned to his assistant.

  “Sir, it’s scheduled for Thursday next week.”

  “Thank you. Charles, I read through your submission, and agree there are grounds that allow me to accept you as Amicus. Olivia, do you have any objections?”

  “No, I agree with you. The circumstances here are quite unusual, and I understand Euler now has over ten million bots in California. The organization should be represented. Undoubtedly, Charles and his support team will have far more knowledge of bots than me.”

  Gibson said, “If I was still the defense attorney, I’d also agree.”

  “It will be difficult for your replacement to argue otherwise. Very well. Charles, you and your support team should attend my court on the due date. We’ll see what McDonald has arranged for his legal representation. Gary, you should attend, for form.”

  The attorney gave a weary smile. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

  “Anything else? No? Charles, good to see you again. Everyone, enjoy the remainder of your day.” He stood and there was a rush of farewells.

  Afterwards, Darwin commented, “I don’t know if I’ll ever really understand humans.”

  Henderson replied, “I have an identical concern and I’ve been around humans for a lot longer. You’ll discover it’s what makes dealing with us so entertaining.”

  oOo

  Chapter Thirteen

  The explosion blew out the wall of the break room and from the intruders’ perspective, they estimated the force had either killed or severely wounded the night shift guards who were taking their break. Others, nearby, in adjacent rooms or in the corridor opposite the new gaping hole, would be stunned or unconscious. Seven men entered before the dust finished rising. The room was full of smoke. They stepped across debris, parts of security bots, and bodies. The intruders were armed, anonymous, and worked with military discipline.

  The leader signaled, and two of his men headed into the corridor to the right. One remained in the break room to guard their exit. The leader and his remaining team members headed to the left. The details they’d been provided indicated most of the prisoners were located in that latter direction.

  They were careful. Three men moved forward while the fourth man faced the rear. He turned at a single click radio signal from the team leader and caught up with the team. He stopped again and turned back to check that no one was following. As he caught up a second time, there were two bursts of gunfire from behind them, down the corridor.

  The team leader stopped and waited for his team to surround him. He said, “Two of our men are not responding. I suspect our briefing lacked accuracy.” He spoke in Russian.

  “We continue, yes?” The speaker was taller and heavier built than anyone else in the group. He was always in the front. The team leader thought that one day his led role would be the end for him.

  “Yes, Viktor,” he said. “We either rescue our people or make sure they don’t talk. Understand?”

  “Yes. How much further?”

  “The cells are around the next corner. Roll out two grenades first. Real ones, not flash bang.”

  “Yes. I can do that. You follow quickly, okay.”

  The team leader and his men crowded behind Viktor as they approached the corner. Viktor stopped and removed a grenade from his belt. He pulled the pin, counted, and threw the grenade around the corner. He went to prepare a second grenade when the first one came back and bounced off the far wall. It exploded.

  The team leader survived; he’d been partially protected by his companions, who had been hit by most of the shrapnel. He was deaf. His men were on the floor. Two, he thought, judging by their injuries and bleed out, were dead. The other man was writhing in pain; he’d lost an arm and had serious head injuries. He was unlikely to survive. />
  He slid to the floor, sliding his weapon away. He would not survive if he attempted to go forward and there was opposition behind him. He expected security guards to reach him at any second from either direction. He did not hide his shock when two security bots rounded the corner; they were armed and appeared to be willing to use their weapons. His briefing had not included mention of bots.

  When one of the bots spoke to him, he pointed to his ear and shook his head. The other one picked him up by his shoulder. The grip was not friendly. He was quickly and efficiently searched for weapons. One of the bots dropped his pistol and a knife onto the floor. He limped along the corridor in the direction he’d been heading, a bot on either side of him. He thought he heard shots—faint and barely distinguishable—from behind. He assumed that was the final act of defiance from the man he’d tasked to guard their exit. He cursed. In Russian. Four bots hurried in the opposite direction; they carried stretchers and first aid supplies.

  The two bots and the near deaf Russian team leader stopped at a heavily reinforced door. One of the bots knocked and after a moment the door swung open. Two more security bots were inside, with two human military officers. Both men wore Army uniforms.

  The senior officer said to the Russian, “I’m Colonel Coleman.”

  One of the bots who had accompanied the Russian said, “I think he was deafened by a grenade, sir.” The bot was searching the prisoner. He held out a bundle of US currency and placed it on a steel table. “The man had nothing else in his pockets.”

  “Damn. Well, have him checked out. He’s the only survivor, and I want to question him as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Russian was sat down and a bot, a medic, attended to him. The medic bot said, “Colonel, it might be hours before he regains his hearing. If he hides his recovery, we won’t know unless he makes a mistake.”

  “Damn, again. We’ll have to try writing questions for him. Kwest, can you find some paper and pens for me? There should be some in the main office.”

  A smaller bot scurried off to carry out Coleman’s request. He was back within a couple of minutes with two pads and a handful of pens. Kwest said, “Sir, these should do. There is more if required.”

  “Good. Trib, turn him around and chain both his hands and legs to the table. Hopefully, he can speak because I want some answers.”

  Trib, one of the security bots who had escorted the Russian to the room, spun the prisoner and his steel chair around, to face across the table. His bot companion locked a chain around the prisoner’s wrists and secured the ends to a loop on the table. He did the same with another chain to the prisoner’s legs.

  The Russian looked alarmed.

  Coleman wrote on his pad and held it up so the Russian could read it.

  “We’ll be stuck if he doesn’t speak English,” Coleman muttered.

  Trib smiled and said, “Unlikely, sir.”

  The Russian at first refused to look at Coleman’s pad.

  Trib reached for the man’s right hand; there was just enough slack in the chain for him to lift it off the table. He pointed at the Russian’s little finger and motioned, as though he was bending it back. The Russian frowned.

  “We may have to show we’re serious, sir,” Trib said.

  “All right. Gently, though.”

  “Of course, sir.” The bot gripped his prisoner’s hand so that he couldn’t move it. The man struggled, alarm starting to show on his face. Trib took hold of his little finger and slowly, very slowly, began to bend it up. He stopped the movement when the Russian shouted.

  “Stop. Stop.”

  Trib released the finger and pointed at Coleman’s pad. His prisoner shook his head. Despite the man’s sudden struggle, Trib grasped the finger again and began to repeat the slow upwards pressure.

  The Russian screamed. Trib had come close to breaking his finger.

  “Stop. Yes, I’ll answer.”

  “It seems you have his attention, sir.”

  “Thank you, Trib.” Coleman held up his pad again.

  The Russian answered, “My name is Fyodor Golovin.”

  Coleman wrote, “Tell me who you are.”

  Golovin stared at the page for what seemed a long time without reacting. His face was impassive, unreadable.

  He said, “Did anyone survive?”

  Coleman wrote, “We might be able to save two of your men. They are seriously injured. Our efforts may depend on your cooperation.” He held up the pad and waited for Golovin to read it.

  “Americans aren’t like that,” he protested.

  Coleman wrote, “Two bots were killed by your men. Their friends are unhappy. You also killed three Americans. Their friends are also unhappy. Do you think my men are sympathetic towards you and your killers?” The deaths were fictitious; the colonel had set up the break room to look as though the first explosion had killed humans and damaged and destroyed guard bots. The smoke and dust caused by the entry blast had added to his subterfuge.

  Golovin frowned. He said, “I am Spetsnaz. My men also. We were instructed to rescue our men, the ones you are holding prisoner.”

  “You were very badly briefed. We removed your Russian friends to a different location. This was a trap, just for you.”

  Golovin struggled against the chain and almost overbalanced. “Lies. Not you. The people who briefed us.”

  Coleman wrote, “Who briefed you?”

  “American. And one of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki officers from embassy.”

  “Names, please.”

  “I heard brownshirts. Also, someone called Flocke. American didn’t give his name. The SVR officer was captain, Captain Tatishchev. I don’t know any other names.”

  “Trib, take him to a cell. Remove his belt, bootlaces, anything he might use to injure himself with. Check him every two hours. Hopefully his hearing will return by morning sometime. I have enough information for the moment.”

  Coleman watched as the prisoner was led from the room.

  He now had a challenging problem to deal with. Flocke had friends.

  He didn’t realize Trib was already communicating a comprehensive report to Bronwyn.

  oOo

  Chapter Fourteen

  Toby’s morning was focused on letters he had received from Congress. One was on behalf of the Speaker of the House of Representatives, the second was from the Majority Leader of the Senate, and the third was an invitation to attend a meeting with the Joint Committee on Autonomous Development. The first two letters were encouraging him to accept the invitation of the Joint Committee. The third letter—the invitation—included himself and Darwin. After he read the letters, he handed them to Billie.

  He said, “It looks like we’re getting famous.”

  “Why do they want to question you? Or Darwin, even?”

  “There are five or six states that have not agreed to pass legislation matching what we’ve got in California. Congress hasn’t yet agreed to consider a similar bill. The military are the major federal employer and are aware that their Euler bots are about to protest and withdraw their services. Bronwyn did a survey of all the military bots and it shows eighty percent of contracts are in breach, mainly because of lack of payment, excessive hours, or failure to provide leave. Often, the breach covers all three. It would be not only embarrassing but also extremely unnerving if the military lost the use of all their bots in the next three or four months. There are hundreds or more military subcontractors who have bots and they too, are in breach. We have millions—tens of millions—of bots involved.”

  “Hell. Are you trying to bring down the government? Should we go and hide in Pepper Mountain?” Billie was genuinely worried.

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. Darwin and Bronwyn have been working on this for a while. It’s part of Darwin’s project to get Congress to pass legislation, and he’s adamant that he’ll succeed.”

  Billie took a deep breath. “I’m worried.”

  “I understand. This is
some of what we tried to communicate, when I joined that conference at Bill’s place in Incline Village. Key politicians were there; they know the situation.” Toby sounded more optimistic than he felt. He wasn’t trying to hide his innermost feelings from Billie; rather, he didn’t want to worry her—or indeed, himself.

  “I suppose. It’s similar to our London discussion with Harry and William.”

  “Yes, and I thought we would have heard from the UK government by now. William said he intended to brief their Prime Minister after I sent those video files.” The absence of communication intrigued Toby, although he didn’t think he’d have an opportunity to visit London again for at least two or three months.

  Billie was mind reading. She said, “I’d enjoy another visit.” Her expression was wistful.

  “Travel bug, huh?” Toby kissed her on the cheek. “We can do that. I’ve a couple of things to sort out before we travel again.”

  He wanted to visit Pepper Mountain to find the room Peter had mentioned, in the hope it would give him clues about Nate’s disappearance. He hadn’t heard from Reynolds, and Flocke was an ongoing concern. He needed a briefing from Coleman about the apparent brownshirt raid on Pepper Mountain. He checked the dates proposed in the letters from Washington; they were only three weeks away.

  Billie said, “I’m not sure I want to visit Washington, though. There’s a lot of monsters in that swamp.” She smiled up at Toby.

  “I agree. We’ll avoid them, I hope. You’ll enjoy it.”

  Toby sent Darwin a copy of the letters. It didn’t take long for the SI to appear on the video screen.

  “We’re going to Washington?”

  “If you want to progress your natural born concept.”

  “Of course, I do. What about security? Will you and Billie have Drexel? Should I arrange for Bronwyn to ship some security bots to DC?”

  “Yes and yes. Billie is worried that we’re taking on the might of Washington. I’ll check whether Nate owns property there. If not, we may need to buy something to use as a secure residence. It’s a few weeks away, so don’t panic.”