by Jack Thorlin
But Igazi didn’t run. In a split-second, the former South African DMV employee surveyed the information available to him. He knew there was a Charlie III fifty yards behind him, and he knew the Charlie had been damaged, perhaps severely.
When the Charlies had arrived to give support to the Arcani surveillance operation at the beachhead, the Arcani had been given a tour of the robotic warriors and an opportunity to ask them questions.
Igazi had asked Charlie III-10, “If I am injured, at what point will you give up on me as a lost cause and run for safety?”
Charlie III-10 had looked down at the South African whose life had until just recently been so meaningless and said, “I will fight to protect you until my central processor has been destroyed, regardless of whether you are still alive.”
At some level, Igazi recognized that the answer had been programmed in, had been taught to Charlie III-10 by his creators in Houston. But he also thought that however those values had been instilled in the Charlies, they were worthy of respect.
Instead of running off, he yelled to Gutierrez, “Keep going!” Before she had time to ask what the hell he was doing, he was off and running back east toward the sound of the gunfire.
He stayed low, trying to keep trees between him and the Ushah closing on Charlie III-10’s position. Through the foliage, he caught glimpses of the robot propping himself up with one arm and using the other to aim and fire his rifle at the incoming enemy.
Then a third shot tore into Charlie III-10, and he jolted back. The round had struck his upper chest, detaching his right arm and tearing a jagged hole near his shoulder. His Gram flew several feet away, and Charlie III-10 was left face-down on the jungle floor.
Igazi was almost there now, and without thinking twice about it, he grabbed the robot’s rifle. Though it contained a small computer to link up with the Charlie’s internal processor to improve aiming, the operation of the rifle itself was not complicated.
It wasn’t hard to understand the Gram rifle, but it was hard to wield it. The damn thing had to weigh more than forty pounds, and Igazi knew that it fired a massive .50 caliber bullet large enough to destroy an automobile engine.
The South African aimed down the barrel and through the scope at the end. He had never fired a weapon before in his life, but he had seen enough movies to know the general idea. Time stood still as he sighted a squat green shape moving against the foliage, running at Charlie III-10, at him.
Igazi barely had time to worry about the recoil of the massive weapon when he squeezed the trigger.
The rifle slammed back against him, and if his adrenaline hadn’t drowned out most of the input from his nerves, he might have worried that he had broken his shoulder. He could have anticipated the problem. The Charlies were seven foot tall, 300-pound behemoths; Igazi was well short of six feet tall and weighed about half as much as the robots.
Miraculously, his first shot was straight and on point, tearing through the midsection of an Ushah and throwing him back onto the jungle floor with a gout of blood. The other Ushah charging forward took cover and started pouring rail-gun shots into the area, shattering tree limbs and sending leaves fluttering through the night sky.
Charlie III-10 saw what was happening and said aloud through his speaker, “Arcani, you must retreat. There are too many of the enemy.”
“You wouldn’t leave me behind,” Igazi said dumbly, then scrambled the last few feet to the damaged Charlie’s position. The robot was truly a mess, and Igazi had to remind himself that, like a computer, Charlie III-10 could continue operating as long as his power supply was undamaged and his central processor was intact.
With two legs and one arm missing, Charlie III-10 only weighed about 120 pounds. Igazi didn’t think he could carry that much, but he was ready to try. He grabbed Charlie III-10 by the waist and tried to heave him up on his shoulder.
“Wait,” the robot said. “Pull the emergency release lever for my main battery pack. It will dramatically lessen my weight.”
Igazi did so, and suddenly Charlie III-10 was a manageable 70 pounds. “Give me my rifle, and I will cover our withdrawal.”
A rail gun round spanged off the battery pack, and Igazi dropped it, yelling, “Shit!” He thrust the rifle into Charlie III-10’s one remaining hand, pulled the robot onto his back and took off running.
Igazi had no idea how Charlie III-10 could aim from his bounding back, but it wasn’t long before he was almost thrown off his feet by the recoil of the rifle being fired at the incoming Ushah. After another three shots, the Gram clicked on an empty magazine, and Charlie III-10 dropped it to lighten Igazi’s load.
Though he couldn’t make great speed, Igazi was careful to dart between and behind the thick foliage, and the Ushah return fire peppered the area around him in a less accurate manner as the attackers lost sight of their retreating enemy in the dark of the jungle.
“The Ushah appear to have turned to the right and are advancing up our line,” Charlie III-10 said. Igazi’s heart was pounding hard enough to pop out of his chest, he thought, but he didn’t dare stop or slow down to see if the robot was correct. He didn’t even reply; he just kept running, trying to put as much distance between himself and the Ushah as he could.
After six minutes of desperate running, with the sounds of battle moving north behind him, Igazi placed Charlie III-10 on the ground and collapsed behind a thick tree. “We are safe now,” Charlie III-10 said. “The Ushah are pushing north, destroying the other Charlies as they go.”
There was no trace of emotion in Charlie III-10’s voice, Igazi thought. Igazi didn’t know much about programming generally, let alone how the Charlies were programmed. But he could imagine Charlie III-10’s internal struggle with competing directives.
The robot had been ordered to protect Igazi’s squad, which was now relatively safe. His next priority would be to support the other Charlies, but he was clearly unable to do that with only one arm. He tried pitifully to push himself forward with his one arm, but he must have realized that the effort was futile. He couldn’t carry the rifle and move himself at the same time, and his programmers must have incorporated some ability to recognize when a task was practically impossible.
“There’s nothing for you to do but survive this,” Igazi said, the adrenaline starting to subside in his veins.
“Surviving while the Ushah are destroying the other Charlies is not optimal,” Charlie III-10 said simply.
How much is going on in that robot’s head, Igazi wondered. Igazi replied, “You will have a chance to avenge them, I think.”
Charlie III-10 made no reply, and Igazi began to wonder if his auxiliary battery had run out. Once he had caught his breath, he picked the robot back up and continued on his way, walking quickly away from the sounds of battle intensifying to the northeast.
Chapter 27: Jackson
“Shit,” Jackson said as he watched technicians trying everything they could think of to regain contact with the satellite.
Yazov muttered some imprecation in his ancestral Russian. “How long until another satellite is in range?”
“73 minutes,” the chief communications technician answered. “We still don’t have as much satellite coverage over the southern hemisphere as the northern.”
“What the hell is going to happen in the interim?” Jackson asked rhetorically, then realized that one of the people best able to answer was in the room with them. “Dmitry, what will the Charlies do?”
As one of the chief programmers, Peskov had a far more detailed understanding of the Charlies’ operating instructions than Jackson or Yazov. The thin Russian adjusted his glasses and said, “The last thing we ordered was protection mode. They are protecting the Arcani and, failing that, they will continue to hold their position at any cost.”
Yazov asked furiously, “Why would they do that? We gave no such order for them to stand and die in position!”
“Th-th-that is the default secondary objective established in the protection subr
outine,” Peskov said timidly, shaken by his co-worker’s anger. “The logic was that if they’re supposed to be protecting someone, they should keep guarding them even after they are wounded or killed.”
Yazov pounded his thick fist on one of the technicians’ wooden desks, actually cracking the timber slightly. “They’re going to be overrun when the Ushah attack unless we order them to change operational patterns. How can we reestablish communications with them?”
No one spoke for a few moments, then Peskov said hesitantly, “The Charlies only respond to calls made over authenticated Terran Alliance communication channels. The TA hasn’t conducted large-scale mobile operations in the field in centuries. The only authenticated channels we can access are the satellite systems or the short-wave radios that the Charlies use to communicate with each other.”
Jackson prompted, “The satellites are out, so how do we get on the short-wave radios?”
Peskov shook his head, “We don’t have any transmitters with enough range. The Arcani have the right equipment, but the Charlies won’t listen to Arcani commands without authentication from a Project Charlie official.”
“So we call the Arcani headquarters in Mozambique, and get them to retransmit for us,” Jackson stated.
“It’s not that easy. There’s no way for them to retransmit our phone signal,” Peskov said.
“Can’t they just put the phone up to the radio?” Yazov asked.
Peskov considered the idea and laughed nervously. “We’ll make an engineer out of you yet, Viktor. That might work if we get a clear signal to them and their short-wave signal is clear.”
“Do it,” Yazov ordered.
As Peskov ran to a phone to get in contact with the Arcani headquarters in Mozambique, Luke said, “Professor Jackson, Mr. Yazov, you may want to listen to this.” He indicated a television showing a video feed from one of the news networks.
The technician activated the room’s speakers, and a newscaster’s voice filled the room. “—appears to be some kind of disturbance in the jungle. We are now about a mile away from the beach, and we can hear loud gunfire and crashes.”
The TV showed a video feed apparently coming from a small drone the news crew was flying over the jungle. From the sky, it was clear that an attack was underway. Though the Ushah blended in well with the foliage, the impact of grenades and the pop of the Ushah rail guns told the tale plainly. Thirty or forty Ushah soldiers had pushed out of the southern side of the perimeter, and they had evidently quickly killed or driven off the twenty or so Arcani who had occupied that part of the line.
Yazov cursed and roared, “Peskov! How long until the Arcani can patch us through?”
“I’m working on it,” his friend replied nervously. “I’m having trouble getting someone at Arcani headquarters to answer the damn phone.”
“Keep trying,” Yazov growled. He looked at the video and said, “The goddamn Arcani aren’t moving to support their comrades under attack. If they don’t move, neither will the Charlies.”
“What can we expect,” Jackson said, “they don’t have any weapons.”
Through a thin patch of foliage, the camera on the drone saw two Ushah soldiers fall to the ground with large bullet holes through their heads. Then a series of explosions rocked the area to their south, and the gunfire from that sector ceased.
“They got both of the Charlies down there,” Yazov said angrily. “Peskov!”
The thin Russian didn’t even bother to cover up the receiver on the phone. “I’m talking to the janitor at the Arcani headquarters, he’s finding the right person to talk to.
“Tell him if he takes another few minutes, there won’t be any reason to hurry,” Yazov said.
The room watched helplessly as the battle moved from the southern tip of the perimeter northward, the Ushah rolling up the defensive perimeter.
“How can the news crew be streaming this video without the satellite?” Jackson asked loudly.
A technician answered, “Civilian data connections are separate from the TA satellites. The bigger news agencies have their own satellites up there.”
“Wonderful. Remind me to invest in the goddamn Global News Network,” Jackson said.
The microphone on the drone picked up the thunderclap of the Charlies’ Gram rifles, and more Ushah fell as they moved from position to position. Ushah soldiers came from the beachhead to reinforce the attack, and another section of the line collapsed as the Charlies in that sector were overwhelmed by attackers.
The situation continued to deteriorate for several minutes, and Jackson was about to start screaming at Peskov when the programmer shouted, “Alright, they’re connecting us to the Charlie command circuit. Viktor, you’re on speaker, start talking!”
Yazov shouted, “All Charlies, report status.”
Only six of the fifteen Charlies in the area responded. “We need to pull back the forces we have left,” Jackson said. “Six Charlies can’t hold off that many Ushah, and we can’t afford to have all our forces in the area wiped out. We may need them to slow down the Ushah advance.”
“What about the Arcani?” Peskov asked. “Aren’t some of them probably still in the area?”
Yazov and Jackson’s eyes met. Jackson was sure that they were both thinking the same thing: We can get more Arcani. It will take time to rebuild the Charlies.
Finally, Jackson said, “Tell them they have one minute to start running, then all the remaining Charlies are pulling out.”
Peskov relayed the command, and then an agonizing minute passed by as one more Charlie was shot first in his right leg, then his right arm. All the while, he kept up fire on the Ushah dropping another two of the attackers before a rail gun shot took off his head, silencing him permanently.
Jackson saw that Yazov’s eyes were glued to the clock in the corner, watching the seconds tick by on the digital display. When 58 seconds had elapsed, he shouted, “All Charlies, converge on sector BZ 349.”
That position was five miles behind the line, Jackson knew. Certainly far enough that the Ushah couldn’t possibly pursue.
The Charlies acknowledged the orders and started the retreat, running quickly through the dark night.
Ten or so Ushah began a pursuit, but it was quickly apparent that they had no hope of catching up to the Charlies. They gave up and returned back to the new perimeter beyond the beachhead.
“Why aren’t they pursuing the Arcani?” Peskov asked.
Jackson was about to answer when Yazov said bitterly. “There are a billion people on this planet. A few Arcani more or less will make no difference to them. The Charlies, ah, now there is a fleeing target worth pursuing, if it were possible. That one Charlie we lost giving the Arcani time to retreat was worth a thousand Arcani. More, probably. After all, there are only 20 Charlies left now.”
Chapter 24: Takagawa
The remains of Charlie III-5 and Charlie III-6 were flown into Houston in two nondescript metal crates three days after the Battle of the Tunnel. The remnants of the other Charlies from the Battle of the Beach had been overrun by the enemy and would never be returned to Houston.
Takagawa knew it was irrational, but she thought she’d feel better if they could be brought back to the lab where they’d been created one last time. Though it would make no difference to the destroyed robots, Takagawa decided she would honor their memory by ensuring that their comrades received an honorable return home.
The Japanese roboticist had announced that she would lead a delegation of Project Charlie employees to witness the delivery of Charlies III-5 and 6. Most of the employees chose to come. The flight ran into headwinds coming into North America, however, and so they were left to wait an hour at the airport.
They crowded the arrival terminal very late, and Takagawa found herself looking out at the murky night sky. It would be early daytime in Mozambique, she knew, where 15 of the remaining 20 Charlies were trying to keep a lid on five thousand Ushah who were busily establishing a colony and pushing back their
boundaries.
Takagawa had pressed Flower to allow the Charlies to take revenge for the Arcani and Charlies killed at the beachhead, but the First Representative had listened instead to the counsel of Safety Minister Redfeather. Redfeather stressed the need to avoid another confrontation between the Charlies and Ushah soldiers. And so, Emma thought morbidly, the Ushah will continue to press, thinking there was barely any price to pay for further expansion.
“Don’t worry, Professor Takagawa,” Yazov said, startling her. “We have learned from this debacle. From now on, we will have multiple communications systems maintaining contact with the Charlies in the field. And we will never again make the default back-up strategy for the Charlies defending a static position. Our boys are smart. Next time, they’ll respond more fluidly to a sudden attack, even if they aren’t in contact with us. One thing I’ve learned about the Charlies: you can’t fool them twice with the same trick.”