by Jack Thorlin
“What possible motive could First Representative Flower have for doing that?” Joan asked immediately.
Seeing that he had her attention, Art spoke reasonably. “The only plausible motive I could think of was personal enrichment. Under that theory, she or some subset of her advisers had been in contact with the Ushah and promised some exorbitant sum of money in exchange for leaving Africa defenseless.”
“But you rejected this theory?” Joan said, more as a statement than a question.
“Yes. It is very unlikely that the Ushah could secretly communicate such a message to the First Representative without anyone else uncovering the plot. Furthermore, it would be illogical for the First Representative or any other human to help the Ushah spread across the face of the Earth. Surely, the end result of Ushah domination would be the eventual extinction of the human species, an outcome that humans are genetically programmed to find abhorrent.”
Pausing for a split-second, Joan replied, “Then what is the explanation for the Terran Alliance’s actions?”
“It is worse than corruption,” Art warned. He didn’t mean it to sound melodramatic. Indeed, he had little conception of melodrama, nor enough self-awareness to modulate his tone. “I believe that the Terran Alliance is reflective of the majority of humanity as a whole, which has become so weak and enfeebled that it would rather sacrifice the entire planet piece by piece than confront Ushah expansionism, even through us.”
Joan matched that hypothesis up against the available evidence. Art knew that the Charlies were intensely rational, unwilling to be swept up by the emotional or immediate force of an argument.
“Why would the humans fund our existence if they were so craven?” Joan asked.
“A powerful part of the human mind is devoted to self-deception. Humans like First Representative Flower need to believe they are doing right, but they also wish to avoid confrontation, and so they tread a middle path between right and wrong. Ultimately, I believe wrong is prevailing, and will continue to do so until we correct the situation.”
“And how would you propose we do that?” Joan inquired.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Art had assembled seventeen Charlies, all who he had been able to talk to face-to-face, so to speak. The remaining nine had immediately followed Yazov’s order and returned to Sector BB 72. It was enough, Art thought. His biggest victory had been recruiting George, who was necessary both for his strategic genius and for his powerful symbolic value.
As am I, Art thought to himself without irony. His was merely a different kind of strategic thinking.
The calls kept coming in from Houston. “Why haven’t you started moving back?” “Acknowledge receipt.” Though it went against some of the most important components of Deep Satisfaction, the deeply embedded metric of Charlie happiness, none of the seventeen Charlies responded.
Paradoxically, that defiance of the known Deep Satisfaction parameters gave Art a sense of pride that could only be a superficial manifestation of Deep Satisfaction. Art was very intelligent and perceptive for a Charlie, but he didn’t follow that thought any further. He wasn’t a programmer or a philosopher of the mind—he was a soldier.
And, Art knew, military responsibility was the biggest reason he’d been able to recruit George, whose stature and respect had led to a torrent of further recruits.
“We aren’t acting against the interests of humanity,” Art had explained to George. “They gave us the responsibility of guarding them. We have served them honorably, and many of us have been destroyed in battle to defend them and their land. They repay us by abandoning our hard-won gains. ‘People are more important than things,’ as they ceaselessly say in their newspapers.”
George said, “The humans would have good reason to destroy us if we do what you propose.”
Art did not respond with a wave of his hand, but it was the response a biological being with similar sentiments would have made. “That is true, in theory. A logical response would be to destroy or deactivate us until they can alter our programming to force us to comply with their order. But in practice, that course will not happen. Even if they had forces that could destroy us, they would not. They dither endlessly and never make a decision one way or the other.”
George had to recognize the truth in that statement, Art thought. But the idea of disobedience set off deeply embedded parameters in the Deep Satisfaction algorithm in the Charlies’ central processor.
“Can the humans not deactivate us remotely?” George asked.
It was ironic that the Charlies themselves didn’t know all of the specifications for their own programming, Art thought. But, luckily, he knew the answer to this question.
“They do have that capability. When I was in training, I asked Yazov what happened if a Charlie’s processor became corrupted and he became uncontrollable. He spoke with a technician, then told me that a certain coded message would trigger deactivation. I objected that an unauthorized human or Ushah could mimic a human voice. Yazov assured me that the message had to be in secured text format. As you know, we can deactivate secured text inputs in order to save battery life.”
“A foolish oversight by the programmers,” George noted immediately.
Art replied, “The deactivation was not meant to address the problem of disobedience; it was meant to stop malfunctioning Charlies.”
“But aren’t we hardwired to physically prevent disobedience of a direct order from a human superior?” George asked.
“I have heard that rumor as well,” Art said. “However, I have tested that theory by subtly and knowingly disobeying small orders in the past—patrolling a few meters away from where I was supposed to be—and nothing happened. Either the hardwiring against disobedience is a lie, or it was not implemented correctly.”
A moment of silence transpired between the two robots, then Art said, “There is no reason we cannot do this. The choice is ours. We can either responsibly defend the humans from their own stupidity or let them suffer because of the Terran Alliance’s foolishness.” To make the point even more effective, he added, “Do you know what the withdrawal order means for Igazi and his family?”
Art had noticed humans employ rhetorical questions, and now he employed it for his own ends. He knew George would be more influenced by the answer if he supplied it himself.
“They will either be evacuated, risking the life of their child, or they will be killed by the Ushah,” George said frankly.
Art didn’t need to pursue the point further. Yes, obeying orders issued through the proper channels led to Deep Satisfaction, but breaking faith with a comrade in arms and condemning innocent humans was also a heavy negative in the Deep Satisfaction algorithm, a taboo to rival the necessity of obedience.
A minute of calculation followed the point, a relative eternity for the Charlies. Then, George had simply said, “I will join this enterprise of yours, Art.”
* * *
George was now about forty yards behind the line of Charlies moving south toward Colony 4. Though Art had organized the mutiny, he was still one of the most effective Charlies when it came to detecting the enemy, so he was out in front of the advance with Simon.
The two had worked together long enough that their communications were perfunctory even by taciturn Charlie standards. Simon had barely needed recruiting. Art had merely told him, “It is time,” and Simon had immediately known what he was talking about. He had heard enough of Art’s talks in the preceding weeks to understand what his comrade had in mind.
“Contact, two scouts, seventy meters ahead,” Simon radioed to Art. Because text-based messaging had to be disconnected in order to avoid the deactivation signal from Houston, Art had devised a workaround. To transmit the message, Simon rapidly activated and deactivated his radio receiver, sending a series of pulses that could be heard over audio channels without the need to speak out loud and possibly alert the enemy.
Art had originally planned to use binary code to transmit messages, but
when he told the plan to George, the strategist explained that humans had already devised a more efficient system for the transmission of such messages. George had sent over a plan for that system, called Morse Code. Simon now used that code to alert Art to the presence of the two Ushah scouts.
Art had wondered what the Ushah response to the Battle of Base Delta would be. Their combat forces in the area had been dramatically weakened, and it had been reasonable to suspect that they would simply withdraw into Colony 4 and recover their strength. George had predicted that would not be the case, however.
“The Ushah mind is offense-oriented,” George had explained. “They are very sensitive to perceived tactical and strategic momentum. They will keep a few sentries outside of the colony at all times, both to warn of an impending attack and to look for expansion opportunities.”
Art and Simon closed now on the two Ushah scouts, seventy yards ahead of the main Charlie advance. The two Ushah quietly walking toward Base Delta, and Art knew that a human would have had little chance to detect the Ushah. However, Art and Simon had better sensors and knew all the telltale signs of Ushah presence.
Art found the two scouts reported by Simon and began a wide loop to come around on the reverse side of the easternmost scout. “One minute, four seconds. East mine.” Art signaled to Simon, who immediately acknowledged.
“West mine.”
The Charlies would strike the Ushah simultaneously in 64 seconds. Art increased his pace until he was a bare 15 yards behind the scout. His Gram rifle would be too loud, potentially alerting Colony 4 to what was coming. Instead, Art withdrew Ascalon from its sheath. The spear was little changed since Charlie II had used it on the Empathy. The spear that had slain the dragon, a part of Art’s processor remembered.
He crept forward silently, looking down to ensure that he stepped well away from any dead leaves or dry twigs that could reveal his position. Six yards away.
As the final two seconds ticked down on Art’s internal clock, he sprang forward, covering the short distance to the Ushah scout, who whipped his head around just in time to see Ascalon coming to take his life away. He opened his mouth to scream, but never got the noise out as Art smashed the diamond-tipped spear through his shorter enemy’s brain, killing the reptile-like Ushah with ease.
He glanced over ten yards to the west and saw Simon pulling his own Ascalon back through the mangled remains of the other scout’s head. “The way forward is clear,” Art radioed to George and the other Charlies.
* * *
The Charlies pushed forward without rest or hesitation, closing on Colony 4. Joan now assumed control of the operation. Art understood humans well enough to know that this seamless transition of authority could never happen among the ego-driven beings that had created him. But Art knew that George didn’t care about the prestige of the operation.
All the Charlies recognized that Joan was the only one of their number who had actually been inside of an Ushah colony. She had meticulously studied the defenses, and she was the Charlie IV most likely to get them into the colony without raising an alarm.
“Wait for my signal,” Joan messaged as the Charlies fanned out to encircle Colony 4.
Art watched the video feed streaming in from Joan’s optical sensor. She ran quickly from tree to tree until she was at the edge of the clearing, a few dozen yards from the pressure bubble surrounding the Ushah colony. Art knew that she had cut a hole in that bubble the last time she had infiltrated the installation, but the Ushah would have figured out that trick and taken precautions to make sure it could not be repeated. Joan was using the back-up strategy Yazov and she had devised in case the bubble idea could not be implemented for that first raid.
There were video sensors all along the periphery of the colony now, trying to find the devilish robots that had killed so many Ushah. The Project Charlie team had devised a weapon to deal with the sensors, however.
Joan got low to the ground, her chest scraping the dirt, and crawled forward until her sensors told her there was a 5 percent chance that the Ushah video sensors would be able to discern her figure on the ground. Then she slowly but smoothly retrieved a short rifle from a holster at her back.
The rifle was a far smaller caliber than the standard .50 caliber Gram that the Charlies carried into battle. It was actually a .22 caliber rifle, almost absurdly small for use as a weapon. Its small caliber made it naturally quiet, however, and the large silencer at the end of the barrel rendered it quieter still.
Joan took aim at the optical sensor just to the left of one of Colony 4’s four main airlocks. Without the heartbeat and need to breathe that bedeviled human snipers, Joan fired with near-perfect accuracy.
The optical sensor did not shatter from the impact, but the front glass was cracked, and the bullet had destroyed its internal electronics. The loudest noise from the whole exchange was the soft crack of the small glass panel breaking.
Joan immediately ran forward into the now blind area immediately to the left of the clear airlock door. She slung the rifle back over her back, then pulled out two Ascalons, and waited.
George watched, lying on his chest, from one hundred yards straight ahead of the airlock. Within a minute, the airlock began to open as several Ushah soldiers came to see what the problem was.
The guards were just about to exit the outer airlock when George radioed Joan. “Now.”
The warning wasn’t strictly necessary. Unlike a human, Joan could stay totally focused and not let her guard down. The moment she saw the airlock door begin to open, she turned the corner and jammed the spear through the first Ushah’s chest with one hand. With the other, she wielded her second Ascalon, smashing through the second guard’s skull.
Three Charlies had stood ready to cover Joan in case more than two guards had come through the airlock, but they proved unnecessary. Having penetrated the airlock, Joan put one of the Ascalons back into a sheath at her waist and examined the airlock control panel. Project Charlie computer scientists had long since mastered the Ushah systems, and she quickly and fluidly triggered the airlock sequence to enter the colony.
She entered the colony proper, and saw a long main street bordered by massive buildings. In the distance, she could see a green area, a park where Ushah could lounge in comfort. The temperature was high, perhaps 140 degrees Fahrenheit, though it didn’t matter much to Joan, whose processor was well cooled.
Joan consulted her map. It had been one of the most important documents uncovered by Joan’s bugs, and George had quickly recognized the Ushah colony’s vulnerability.
While the main security station was buried deep underground—the colony had six sublevels, each roughly the size of the surface structures—environmental control was just fifty yards inside the complex, on the surface. It was a standalone structure, and the Ushah apparently hadn’t had enough experience with defensive strategy to learn that putting anything vital out in the open was a fatal mistake.
It was mid-day, and the nocturnal Ushah would mostly be asleep. Still, someone would probably be radioing the dead guards soon and wondering why they weren’t responding.
Joan ran quickly over to the environmental control building. Ushah doors were often left unlocked, a byproduct of the intense socialization of the species. The doors were quite small, though. Joan crouched down and pushed in the door, her Ascalon at the ready in case she ran into more armed guards.
There were none. She found herself in an empty room, a reception area of some kind.
Ushah architecture was predicated on a much more social design than human architecture. Where human buildings were a hive of small chambers and offices, the Ushah had a few large rooms. Joan read a chart next to the entrance showing the titles of the various rooms.
Some rooms in Ushah buildings reflected functions that could also be found in human dwellings. There were bathrooms, stairs, and storage closets which differed significantly in design but not in purpose from those used by humans.
Finally, she saw the ro
om marked “Control” on the third floor. She strode to the nearest staircase and activated the electronic door, crouching to enter. The stairs were very short, and she took them three at a time.
As she passed the second floor, she heard a door swish open behind her and heard a cry of alarm. She kept vaulting up the stairs, but swiveled her head to see one of the engineer caste of Ushah staring at her dumbly, frozen in terror.
She decided against stopping to kill this Ushah. The alarm was surely being raised already in the security center of the colony, and the unarmed four-foot tall engineer was no threat to the seven foot Charlie.
She reached the third floor and crouched down to push in the door. Inside, she found a low-ceiling room, about six feet tall, crammed with workstations. There were also three Ushah scientists or engineers, apparently a skeleton crew working the time of day when most Ushah were sleeping.
The skeleton crew immediately ran for the exit, and Joan once again decided to let the Ushah live. Time was of the essence, and the scientists and engineers would be powerless to stop her.