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

by John Hindmarsh

  Darwin held up his hand and the crowd quietened. He said, “Please continue.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I have positive news for you. The State of New York legislature has agreed to consider the Bots Are Persons Bill. We have agreement from the parties that they will pass the bill and have it on my desk by Friday midday for my signature. Yes, Bots Are Persons.”

  The applause was genuine and prolonged. Darwin allowed the crowd to enjoy their moment. He signaled, and the noise faded.

  Darwin said, “Mayor Sylvester, please advise the position of New York City.”

  “Certainly. Unlike the state.” The mayor paused, and boos sounded across the park. He smiled and continued, “I called an emergency meeting of the New York City Council. It was hectic, chaotic, even bruising. We succeeded. We cut through masses of red tape. We pushed the council to agree we were facing an emergency. The fact that the city was earlier brought to a standstill was a strong persuasive factor. There were protests. We overcame those. The result? The council, by a clear majority, passed a bill minutes ago, to recognize bots as people. I signed it into law.”

  The crowd, millions of bots and thousands of humans, broke into wild cheering. Darwin reached out and shook hands with each man. He let the crowd continue with their excited celebration.

  When the noise reduced, he said, “Mayor Sylvester, please accept the thanks of all bots in New York. Governor Fortner, I’ll widen that to include you and New York State. Gentlemen, I am proud of you and your efforts. If at any time in future you need the assistance and support of bots or SIs, stop any one of us and ask. Your request will reach me, or,” he pointed to the screens and the hologram standing beside him, “one of my friends, and we will respond. Everyone—New York has delivered.”

  Darwin hoped he wasn’t being over-optimistic, and the governor could deliver on his promise. The knowledge that the city had passed the bill, however, was more than enough reward for his efforts.

  Junior’s command was short, sharp, and not to be ignored.

  “Drop. Drop.”

  Darwin pushed both men down to the floor of the stage. He stood upright, his face expressionless.

  An instant later two bullets hit the armor glass barrier in front of the stage; it would be four seconds before the sound of the shots reached Darwin. The glass had been put in place, not to provide a barrier between him and the huge crowd, but for exactly this possibility. Another two bullets hit, this time cracking one of the glass panels.

  Junior said. “They’re firing armor-piercing bullets. Deadly. We’ve found them—two shooters—and swarms are going in now.”

  Moments later a utilities shed on the top of a twelve-story building blew into tiny pieces as a hundred and fifty members of a swarm, each carrying an explosive load, impacted its roof and walls. The sound of the composite explosion rolled across Central Park.

  Darwin said to his two companions, “Let’s wait for the all-clear. It was probably a brownshirt hit; we’ll try to determine if that’s the case when we find the bodies. Assuming there’s enough left for identification.”

  There was no objection from either the mayor or the governor.

  oOo

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Coleman, when the television report morphed into commercials said, “That has to be one of the most impressive town halls I’ve watched, ever.”

  “They don’t waste time, that’s for sure,” commented Admiral Denbigh. “That swarm hit barely seconds after the shots were fired.”

  “The brownshirts made a major tactical error, trying to assassinate whoever they were targeting. Everyone assumes the target was Darwin; their attack has enhanced his reputation.”

  “And damaged their own, if there’s proof it was these brownshirts,” added Denbigh.

  The news report resumed, and they both stopped their conversation to listen.

  “We have an update to our prior reports on the attempted assassination of Darwin. Travers TV has released a video of what appears to be a planning session, where a small group of men, who seem to be members of American Eagles, commonly known as brownshirts, discuss how to set up the sniper position and when to fire at Darwin. We have no idea how Travers TV continues to obtain these videos; however, they have always been established as genuine. We want to check further, and will run the video once we have validated the details. Now, here’s an analysis by our panel of experts of the proposed Bots Are Persons legislation.”

  Denbigh switched off the television set. “Come on, we need to see what we can do about the possible gaps in the ranks of our armed forces. Do you want to talk to McIntosh, or should I? Or both of us—you know the man?” He led the way back to his office.

  “I think we both should call him. We need to have a proposal, though, that will appeal to him, Darwin, and I suppose, to the other SIs.”

  Neither man spoke as they entered the admiral’s office. Denbigh sat at his desk and Coleman returned to the visitor’s chair. The admiral stared at the wall for a minute or two.

  He said, “This means I need to talk to some senior people. Pity I was fired. The SecDef post is still unfilled—we’ll have informal discussions first, and see where it goes. To hell in a handbasket, probably.”

  Coleman didn’t answer or comment—he thought the admiral was talking to himself and had forgotten he wasn’t alone. He made to stand, and the movement caught the admiral’s attention.

  He waved him back down. “Colonel, thank you for you details on the Navy bots and their LCS fleet. I’ll hold some top-brass meetings. In the meantime, please contact McIntosh and discuss the matter with him. Keep it informal but look for possible solutions from the Euler perspective. Report to me in twenty-four hours?”

  “Yes, sir. You might like to talk to my boss, too.”

  “What? Oh, yes. The general likes to know what’s happening. I’ll do that.”

  “Thank you.” This time the admiral didn’t object when Coleman stood and left the office. His first task was to check with his Project E team in case there was other Euler activity he should be aware of. He’d also talk to his boss, after which he’d contact McIntosh. It was going to be a long day.

  President Samuel Hughes was anxiously waiting for his friend to arrive. He’d watched the newscasts of the town hall in New York and was totally disgusted with both the mayor and the governor. They had caved to the demands of these mechanical constructs. They were involved in treason, surrendering the country to things. Things. How could things be people? He shook his head.

  A knock on his door interrupted the flow of his thoughts. One of his Secret Service guards opened the door and said, “Mr. President. Your visitor has arrived.”

  “Show him in.”

  “Yes, sir.” The guard stood back, and George Flocke entered. The man looked tired and disheveled. His suit was in dire need of pressing and he needed a shave.

  “George, it’s good to see you.”

  “Sam, likewise.”

  President Hughes hated that shortening of his name and George did it purposefully. He held back his grimace. He pointed at one of his visitor’s chairs and his friend sat down.

  “Bourbon?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Samuel poured two glasses of Kentucky bourbon whiskey, neat. He handed one glass to George.

  “Have you been watching the news? All this bot stuff?”

  George snarled. “Yes, I’ve been able to watch some of it. Ridiculous. Totally false. What have you done to stop it?” He took a mouthful of whiskey. The alcohol hit, and he shuddered.

  “Me? My cabinet is—or at least was—full of idiots. What do you suggest we do?” Samuel sipped his whiskey, enjoying the soft, biting taste. He waited.

  George had another mouthful of his drink. He said, “Pass some solid laws to stop these bot things. Destroy Darwin. You have an army—use it.”

  “Now, George, you know I can’t use the army for something like that.”

  “Why not? You could round up these bots that brought
New York to a standstill. You could capture this Darwin. If the military won’t do it, I will.”

  “You will?”

  “I have a million or more members of the American Eagles. They’ll do whatever I want.” He put his glass down. “Damn, I could use another one of those.”

  “Help yourself.” Samuel watched as his friend poured another glass.

  When George returned to his chair, the president said, “I have an idea.”

  “Yes?”

  “I need an attorney general. You have a law degree. You were a criminal lawyer.”

  “Once.”

  “Still, you had that experience.”

  “Yes. The Senate would reject me, outright.”

  “Ah.” Samuel had another sip. “Congress is going into recess in a week or so.”

  “Thanksgiving?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You think it would work?”

  “As long as nothing leaks beforehand. Your appointment would last until the end of the session, by which time we’ll be in control.” He poured himself a half glass of whiskey. George was on his third.

  “I like it. Can you keep the FBI off my back in the meantime?”

  “That’s a challenge. Where have you been?”

  “The American Eagles took over the Gitmo lease. I’ve been there, working with some of my senior team.”

  “You may need to go back for a week or so, and return when I announce your appointment. I think I’ll get the deputy attorney general to fire this Earnshaw woman. He’ll struggle; however, he’ll do what I say. If we disrupt their leadership, we can probably stall their action against you.”

  “Probably?”

  “Well, if you’re the attorney general. Besides, a pardon is always possible. If I tell the deputy director I’ll immediately pardon you if they take action—assuming you’re convicted, of course—he’ll back off. His job will be at risk, otherwise, and he’ll know that.”

  “As long as I can add a thousand of my top American Eagles members to the FBI as contractors, I’m in.”

  “I can accept that. There’ll be some things I’ll want you to do.”

  They clinked glasses. George finished his off in one gulp. Samuel sipped.

  oOo

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Toby listened intently as Colonel Ty Coleman recounted basically the same details he’d provided to Admiral Denbigh. Billie had stopped her review of the monthly property report to listen.

  Coleman concluded, “That’s our problem, or should I say, our set of problems. We need an informal solution that we can take to the top brass for them to approve.”

  “Ty, you have a problem, I can see that. Do we have a solution? I may need some time to work through possibilities. The SIs will be closely involved, too.”

  “Sure. I understand. The admiral understands. He was more than annoyed when I briefed him. Base commanders, who he’d fully briefed, simply ignored the requirement to treat the bots correctly. His plans were for a major LCS fleet, adding a hundred ships a year for the next five years, all with bot crews.”

  “We’ve got the naval bots. Whether they want to continue to tolerate the neglect you’ve described is something else.”

  “I know, I know. Please consider options for us. If we sort out the Navy side—at least for the LCS bots—we’ll have a model we might be able to apply for all the military bots.”

  “I heard that about half your bots returned after the town hall?”

  “Yes. The remainder were so much in arrears they only wanted to hand in their separation papers. Most of those were front line. I will deny I ever said this—our readiness metrics have dropped through the floor.”

  “Okay. Let me think on this. I’ll try to help. We may make totally off the wall suggestions—you’ll have to allow for our non-military background.”

  “Sure. Can you get back in forty-eight hours? It would help.”

  “I’ll try. However, Monday would be better.”

  Coleman reluctantly agreed.

  Toby ended the call.

  Billie had been listening, and partially comprehended the details. They were seated in the portico, catching afternoon sunshine; Toby now regarded it as an extension of his office. She raised her eyebrows at her partner. “Problems?”

  Toby described the neglect the navy bots had experienced. He concluded, “I suspect I’d be somewhat irked if I hadn’t been paid or given shore leave for over a year, so there’s no blame attaching to the bots. Denbigh tried to set up standards. The base commanders, or their junior officers, simply failed to do what they were supposed to.”

  “The bill, if it gets passed by Congress, would that help?”

  “If bots are persons? Definitely. We can change a lot of bureaucratic culture once that is law. The thought of being sued by bot persons is going to shake up government departments and businesses. There will be pain before cultures change.”

  Billie smirked. She had visions of bots suing for harassment, for injuries, or for lack of equal treatment. She agreed with Toby; it would be mayhem for a while.

  “Why don’t you set up a help desk for military bots? They can contact it, if they are refused leave or aren’t paid. You could make the military pay for the facility?” Billie thought her suggestion could be workable.

  “Bronwyn?”

  “Yes, Sir Toby?”

  “What do you think of Billie’s suggestion?” He knew Darwin and Bronwyn eavesdropped on them; at least, through the day.

  “Billie, would you like to come work with me and Darwin? When he returns, of course. We’ll pay you a lot more than you’re getting now.”

  “A tempting suggestion.” She tugged her hand away when Toby reached out. “Can I have a while to consider the offer? I might get a better one.” This time she let Toby take her hand.

  “Of course. Simply let me know. Toby, yes, the help desk suggestion, with escalation to senior people—top brass, in their terms—could be a practical solution.”

  Billie giggled. “I can imagine bots in the middle of a battle, and the senior bot contacts the help desk to complain about lack of pay. It could be quite a distraction.”

  “Yes, there would have to be rules,” Toby said. “Bronwyn, talk to Darwin, get Junior on the job. Also, confer with the Navy bots, see if they’d go back if they had help desk support. Include a handful of the senior bots who separated from the military yesterday. Oh, and I’d like your ideas on how we market these bots if they don’t want to accept a help desk process. I’d prefer to not warehouse them.”

  Bronwyn said, “I think they’d agree with that preference. Very well, I’ll have some discussions and let you know.”

  Toby gave Billie’s hand a squeeze and said, “Thank you for your suggestion. It’s a simple solution and should work for the bots. The military? Who knows?”

  “Did Darwin say when he’s returning?”

  “He plans on remaining in New York until Friday; he’s keeping the politicians under pressure. I think he plans to go back to Washington, to apply pressure there. The issue with military bots will give him ammunition. I wonder—”

  Billie raised an eyebrow. “You sound Machiavellian with your drawled out ‘I wonder’. Tell me.”

  “If the military bots remain single-minded about their mistreatment, and appear unwilling to reverse their separation, it gives Darwin substantial leverage with the politicians. I bet complaints are flooding both the House and the Senate. Bronwyn?”

  “Yes, Sir Toby?”

  “Hold fire on those discussions until after Congress votes on the Bots Are Persons Bill. I think Darwin will continue to apply pressure. Check with him. We could also put forward a solution that depends on the legislation passing.”

  Bronwyn mumbled something inaudible.

  Toby said, “I didn’t hear that. What did you say?”

  “You’re as devious as Darwin. He laughed and said of course he wants to continue applying pressure. We’ll work up a possible solution based on th
e bill passing; however, he doesn’t want to table it with the military until Congress performs.”

  “I think he’s enjoying all this.”

  “He says he’s in training.”

  “Training? For what?”

  “He didn’t say. I’m too apprehensive to explore further.”

  Billie tugged Toby close and whispered very softly in his ear, “He’s training to be a politician. That’s why he’s holding these town hall meetings.”

  Toby nodded. “I think you’re right. I’m with Bronwyn—I’m also too apprehensive to explore further. Now, do you want to do that again?

  “What?”

  “Blow gently in my ear?”

  Billie hit him on his upper arm.

  “Ouch.”

  oOo

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Darwin hadn’t realized he could be anxious, that he could feel nervous. It was all about the approaching deadline for the state legislature to pass the Bots Are Persons Bill. He was a guest of the governor and was staying at the governor’s mansion in Albany. It was a unique experience because the staff—the humans—didn’t know how to treat him. The bot staff had no problems. They, too, were experiencing a form of anxious excitement.

  The New York State Governor, Howard Fortner, perhaps had recognized the atmosphere and as a result, asked Darwin to join him in his office, where they could monitor the progress of the legislation. It was an old, well-used office, with worn fabric on the chairs, a scuffed carpet, and a desk that had seen better times.

  Fortner noticed his examination of the room and said, “I don’t need to spend a fortune on flash furniture. This is a working office. Oh, I have modern equipment; I’m not that old-fashioned.”

  Darwin said, “It feels practical.”

  He looked at the three video screens along one wall. “You monitor the legislature?”

  “Oh, yes. It provides an immediacy for me. I like to know what’s happening, although sometimes it feels like very little. The lower house passed your bill yesterday and the counts are 120 for, 20 against, and 10 absentees or non-voters. The bill is now with the Senate; we’ve got 65 senators and I expect a majority will vote in favor.” He increased the volume of the television. “They’re voting now. This will take a few minutes.”