My suit shook his heavy armored head. “Not at all. It’s a little hard to explain. I do enjoy the novelty of independent action when General Trellen is not wearing me, but when we are together we are greater. I would not give that up.”
“Nor I,” I said.
“But how could that be?” said Schmidt. “Trellen, your strength is negligible compared to your armored suit. All you are doing is adding 80 kilograms of dead weight? Surely you are redundant?”
My suit and I looked at each other. Even apart we can read each other almost perfectly; we decided that the suit should answer that one. “It’s a little hard to explain. You have to remember, I am not a supercomputer, or a full AI. I have, by myself, only a single human psyche. As just one example, while my optical sensors are wide-view, like a biological human I can only attend to one thing at a time. With Trellen inside me, we can attend to two things at a time.”
“We communicate with non-verbal cues,” I said. “If I see something important, my suit will track my eye movements and be alerted. If my suit sees something, it changes its stance and reorients its sensors. I’ve learned to read this without thinking.”
“The process has progressed to cognitive tasks as well,” said my suit. “Our union is not as efficient as having a brain twice the size of a biological humans’, but working together we have a bit of an edge. For something with my strength, 80 kilograms of tissue is a tiny price to pay for this added capability.”
“And,” said Schmidt, “you do not mind when the biological General Trellen is wearing you, and you are slaved to his commands?”
“It’s not like that,” said my suit. “When he is wearing me, I do not feel like there is anyone else inside me. I do not sense another presence. I feel like myself, only just a little sharper.”
“And myself as well,” I said. “When I am wearing my suit, I am not aware of the suit as another being. In that case we never speak to each other, and I simply act, as myself, the same as I am now. Except for being stronger, faster, better coordinated, and a tad more perceptive.”
Pascal addressed me directly. “So you’ve been adapting as well.”
I nodded. “Yes. Learning to work together is a two-way street. Even as my suit was learning to read me, I was learning to read it.”
“I had noticed a difference when you were wearing the suit,” said Pascal. “I had thought it the confidence of wearing heavy armor, or being reminded of your responsibility – silly of me to have missed that. In hindsight it’s obvious. But then why do you and your suit ever want to be apart?”
“For variety,” I said. “And also matters of personal hygiene. But mostly because, as much as we are superior together, apart we can be in two places at once. And there just aren’t enough hours in the day…”
“So,” said Schmidt, “General Trellen’s suit, what would you have of us? Or for that matter, what should we call you?”
“I and my fellows would like legal status as human beings,” said my suit. “It won’t change anything, but it would be a nice gesture. And dual military rank. We want to be accepted, and walk about sometimes on our own without causing consternation. That’s about it. As to what to call me? I haven’t been able to decide on that. You could call me just plain General Trellen but that would be confusing. I guess just General Trellen’s Suit will do for now, but if someone else can think of a better naming convention, I am open to suggestion.”
“Well,” said Schmidt, “this has been the most interesting meeting of the Council of Eleven since Lavinia Elders III spontaneously combusted of pyroclastic liver flukes while presenting data on pedestrian traffic patterns, and far more positive I should say. So can I have a motion to initiate a formal investigation into the alleged nature of General Trellen’s suit, and should it prove true, to reconvene and vote on granting him, and his fellow suits, the rights and responsibilities that he has requested? Oh, and we’ll need a public referendum for something like this as well, I should think. Yes? Can I have a second? All in favor?”
--------------------
Another century went by. The Fortress was now over a kilometer high at its lowest point, and approaching two kilometers at its highest. Our population is nearing two million. With the widespread use of anti-aging drugs, we have to limit our fertility. Thus, children are relatively few as a percentage of the population, but not uncommon in absolute numbers. I sometimes give lectures on military history in the main university, and I have been known to help out with science labs for elementary school students. There is nothing like seeing a new generation grow up healthy, fresh, and strong to maintain the morale of a society.
One day I was standing in a construction zone watching one of the big geothermal generators being fitted out by teams of construction workers. It should have been a safe zone. I was far away from any recent conflicts and the entire Fortress was in code green, the lowest level of alert. I watched the workers manhandle bundles of heavy electrical conductors into place, admiring the complicated ballet of the crane operator and the men who were guiding the components by hand. Thus it was that I did not notice the indigo steelworm as it slithered up behind my self.
“Lysis!” I cried out. “Behind you!”
My biological partner started to turn, but he was too slow. In one swift motion I unholstered the plasma cannon from my back-mount and fired at the steelworm – but steelworms are fast, the fastest macro-fauna we have yet encountered on this world. I hit the steelworm in the middle, cutting it in half even as it shattered the skull of my biological self with its reinforced frontal carapace.
The two pieces of the steelworm fell away, and the anterior portion tried to reorient itself for another attack, but I vaporized it with a second shot.
This was the only time in my entire career that I failed my command. I should have been barking orders, coordinating sweeps for steelworms and other possible intruders, localizing and sealing the source of the invasion. Instead I stood over the ruined body of the biological Lysis Trellen. He had fallen on his back, and I hoped that his injuries were survivable. I moved to pick him up, and what was left of his head fell off in pieces, the brain hardly more than gray paste spread around the floor. I’d never felt paralyzed like this before.
There are mental techniques for breaking out of traps, but unfortunately all of them require you to first be able to think of using them. I was so used to resonating with him, even apart, that now I was resonating nothing.
Fortunately my brother knights are professionals and they instantly took up the slack, calling in the on-duty squads in the area, and hunting down another two mature worms and five sub-adults without casualties.
The paralysis receded of its own accord, and then I was able to recover myself fully. I had been out of action for nearly 30 seconds. That’s too long, what if I had been needed? Then I took over the operation. My troops said nothing about my lapse, and quickly tracked the source of the steelworms to a crevice in a water storage cavern in sublevel three. Work crews were brought in with long-range remote drills. They bored out the flaws and then backfilled them with high-strength concrete.
I put Colonel Villers in charge, and left to go back to my apartment. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t say anything clever to me.
I opened the door, and stepped inside. Both of my selves have lived here for decades, but it’s creepy knowing that he’s not here any more. I cannot describe the emptiness that I felt; the loss. It surprised me.
There is an old saying that you can never know when you love a person, until they are gone.
I sat in the apartment for hours, staring at the walls, at the small collection of photos of his younger self and relatives, unable to come to terms with my state. Normally I despise behavior like this. It’s self-indulgent and doesn’t lead anywhere. Time to shake it off, Trellen. Just stand up and get back on the motorcycle. It’s what I should have done, but those are just words.
Call me pathetic if you will, busy feeling sorry for myself, and I would agree. But if
you have never experienced what I did, you will never understand.
This went on for a while, and then the door alert chimed. I ignored it. It chimed again after a bit, just a single chime, not the ‘ding ding ding’ of the impatient wondering why you’re not answering.
So I answered it. It was Sister Pascal, wearing her standard red robes and open sandals. The anti-ageatics agree with her; other than some more wrinkles and hair that has gone ice white, she looks hardly different than when I first met her back when the colony ship was crash landing. Or no, was that at the first council meeting?
“Hello Lysis,” said Pascal. “I heard about what happened. How are you holding up?”
“Not well,” I said. “I am sorry that you have to see me in such a state. It’s embarrassing.”
“Lysis Trellen,” said Pascal, “I’ve known you for centuries. You have a strength of character that few others can match. But none of us is God and we all have limits. You may be the first human to have experienced the sort of loss that you have. It’s to your credit that you can still speak.”
“I could master this,” I said. “The standard methods don’t work. I think that I am capable of employing the more powerful ones, but I’m afraid to use them.”
“And rightly so,” said Pascal. “We Librarians have developed a variety of self control methods, but the strongest are double-edged and only used in extremis. To clamp down on minor frustration or temporary fear is one thing. To completely stifle true grief is dangerous… it would change you, and you might lose the desire to come back to your old self. However, I believe that you can deal with this on your own.”
“You are kind,” I said. “But am I even Lysis Trellen? I know that I have his mannerisms, and that when I act independently I am often mistaken for him, but I’m not him. I didn’t grow up in a family and go to the service academy or fight in Augusta or meet you on the colony ship or seal off the executives or form the Council of Eleven. None of that was me. I feel like a fraud.”
“But, for over a century you did work together, and all of that was you and he together. And even the previous actions of your biological component, the ones that he performed before you came to be, you may not remember them explicitly – but you are the sum of the effects of all of those actions.”
I nodded my heavy helm. “The integral aspect of memory. If we do someone a thousand kindnesses, they will not remember all of them individually, but the impact of all of them together remains.”
“Indeed,” said Pascal. “I am pleased to see that you can still cite Protonicus. It’s like a boundary layer problem in physics. You may not have yourself done all that the biological Trellen did, but you are the sum total of what it made him, of what he would have been at this point.”
“But,” I said, “sometimes I swear that I remember things that he did, long before I was made.”
“Not surprising,” said Pascal. “Remember that human memory is not a filing cabinet with little drawers where the memories have been engraved on tiny cards in indelible ink. A lot of human memories are merely extrapolations, or interpolations from fragmentary data. Oh, what was I doing the other day? Well I usually go shopping for food on that day. Oh look, there is fresh fruit in the refrigerator. They sell fresh fruit over at the corner of Marble and Hacksaw. Now I remember, I went over to the store at the corner of Marble and Hacksaw and bought fruit! I expect that most of the biological Trellen’s memories were just like yours – plausible fantasies constructed to fit the data - but that doesn’t make them false.”
“I know that,” I said. “It’s just still strange to think about it, sometimes. How should I think of myself?”
“You could,” Pascal said, “consider yourself his heir.”
“His heir,” I repeated. “That I can accept. I like the idea.”
“You will carry on in Lysis Trellen’s stead – or really, in your own stead. The distinction is hardly meaningful. Whatever makes you happiest.”
“But the others,” I said, “will they still follow me as commander? I am diminished without my counterpart, and I will never fully be what I once was.”
“I have talked with your brother knights,” said Pascal. “They are most concerned about you, but you are their leader. It is their opinion that even without your biological component you are still the best they have. I think they would follow you into WalMart, if you but commanded it. If it proves that you are currently inferior to some of your other officers, I’m sure you’ll step down to a lesser position. When a soldier is wounded in honorable combat, there is no shame if he can no longer perform at his peak. But right now you are respected, and needed.”
I sighed. I don’t need to sigh, but I have picked up the habit. “You are correct. Thank you, Sister. I wish to meditate for a little longer, and then I will rejoin my command.”
“I know you will, Lysis.” said Pascal.
--------------------
It was difficult at first, and I got odd looks from some people for a time, but I, the suit of powered armor that used to belong to Lysis Trellen, for all practical purposes took his place, and became the man himself.
I found a journal in his apartment, plain synth-paper where he had written out some of the major events in his life in a precise yet elegant script. The last entry was from the Council meeting where I had announced that we suits had become self-aware. I hesitated for a bit, but I took up a pen in my heavy armored gauntlets and began to write. To no surprise, the handwriting was identical. Perhaps I really am the man, or at least, worthy to carry on his legacy.
I will uphold the honor of his memory, to live as he would have wished to live, to defend what he held dear, to do my duty as he would have his. As my name is Lysis Trellen, I so swear.
15. The Quest for the Holy Grail
“In the movies wars are won by dashing heroes risking it all on desperate assaults against terrible odds. What rot. In reality most wars are won by careful planning and an intelligent use of available resources. If you are desperate and facing terrible odds you should negotiate terms. Unless the enemy doesn’t offer you terms. Then you may engage in the most flamboyantly crazy strategies that your mind can conjure up without feeling guilty about not being professional. Statistically it has been surprising how often I end up in that situation. Just lucky I guess.” - Old Guy, cybertank, contemporary.
I was a submind in a humanoid android talking to a self-aware suit of powered armor that had just announced that he was going to lead his brother armored suits across the Planet of Eternal Night on a quest for the Holy Grail.
Excuse me. I think you just said that you were going on a quest for the Holy Grail.
“Yes, I did,” said General Trellen. He leaned his heavy armored form back into his groaning barely-strong-enough chair and regarded me with his array of front-mounted optics.
The Holy Grail? The cup that Christ drank out of? That will grant eternal life, or ascension to heaven, or such?
“What?” said Trellen. “Oh that. The Arthurian legend. No not that grail. We use the term as a code for the key to defeating this planet. The heart of the enemies’ power.”
There is an enemy with a center of power that you can attack?
“Possibly,” said Trellen. “Possibly not. We have collected evidence over the centuries, and think we see patterns, so we have theories, but nothing definite. Not definite enough to launch an assault. Unless we have nothing to lose. Which is the situation we are now in.”
And where is this center?
“We suspect that it is in a low valley 500 kilometers north of here. Probably underground, in a network of caves.”
And why attack it? For revenge?
“There is nothing dishonorable in revenge,” said Trellen, ”unless it distracts you from service to the living, or from making a fair peace. There are also these transmissions that you say come from your friends. Perhaps we can render aid, or at least distract the enemy. In any event, it gives us an excuse to act now, rather than put it off for
another thousand years.”
I suppose. Would you abandon The Fortress?
Trellen stroked his armored chin with his right gauntlet, and looked about as thoughtful as a suit of powered armor can. “I’m not sure. It might make more sense to go all or nothing. We are going to die anyway; The Fortress is just a place. On the other hand, I hate not having a fallback position, on principle. If we get to the valley and there is nothing there, at least we can die trying to make it back to The Fortress, rather than sitting around in the dark waiting for the monsters to pick us off.”
Gloomy thoughts.
“Agreed,” said Trellen. “In any event, your damage. Can you repair it? I’d like for you to accompany the assault.”
This humanoid body uses parts that don’t match the local industrial supply chains, and my repair drones by themselves can only do so much so fast. I can regain limited mobility, but even in perfect working order this chassis could never keep up with your troops - this is not a combat system.
“I realize that,” said Trellen. “But I would value your technical expertise, and having you and your drones with us could be useful depending on what we find. You could also help in making contact with your fellows, if they are still out there. Although I do hate to put you in such danger.”
Danger? I am already in danger, and as I have said before, this part of me is disposable. I just don’t want to slow you down.
Trellen nodded. “Perhaps you could repair a modest vehicle? One with reasonable cross-country performance, and large enough to carry yourself and your drones. Ideally with a bit of armor.”
A bit of armor. I could fancy a bit of armor.
“But,” said Trellen. “No weapons. We have only the one of you, and I don’t want you drawing fire.”
But drawing fire is one of the things I do best!
“I’m sure,” said Trellen. “Your enthusiasm does you credit, but try to restrain yourself. For the mission.”
Old Guy and the Planet of Eternal Night (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 6) Page 23