Machines of Eden

by Shad Callister

  “Let me guess. Janice.”

  “Correct. She accelerated his research to the extent that we were within a year or two of a breakthrough that would have enabled us to offer the world peace, abundance, and hope. Our work was almost complete.

  “Then the Accords ended the war. The urgency of our work decreased. Under the Accords, as you know, the Grays were granted rights to collection of natural resources on a limited basis. They continued to produce technology and develop their urban population centers, within circumscribed areas. The Greens backed off, satisfied that they had effected sweeping change, and confident in their power of numbers should the Grays overstep their bounds again.

  “Shortly after this Glenn and Janice began to argue, and each retreated into their own work, collaborating less frequently. Then Glenn disappeared, and a week later Janice located his remains in the jungle.”

  “I bet she did,” John interjected. “I bet she knew right where to look.”

  “Adam, please don’t make blind accusations. This was a terrible tragedy which took months to recover from.”

  “Don’t put it past her. That one’s a live wire. I should know. Did you ever examine Glenn’s body?”

  “His remains were returned here, but I had no eyes on the part of the island where the accident occurred. Both Glenn and Janice were always careful that my control be limited to parts of the island; for privacy, they said.”

  “Convenient for Janice, but not for Glenn.”

  “We interred Glenn’s remains in the Facility. I continued the Plan in his name, but Janice began interjecting ideas and modifications of her own. Now she’s even shooting my deer because she doesn’t trust my population control methods, or perhaps out of spite! She’s become so secretive and demanding of late that I’ve been forced—“

  The audio feed cut out with a series of rapid clicking sounds, followed by a long beep. John was about to inquire about her connection, but caught himself. Janice might be listening.

  And it was just getting juicy.

  The ground to his right suddenly erupted in a spray of dirt. He heard a loud whir, ominously familiar, and cursed viciously, swerving the bike in a hard left and gunning the engine for the nearest trees. The air around him hummed.

  Buzzards! screamed Sergeant Wiley to the old squad. Everybody duck and dodge!

  John hadn’t seen any of their pods, but then, he hadn’t been looking. Buzzard bots were deployed from oil-drum sized canisters, and they were often camouflaged as dead tree trunks or rocks. He cursed again. Janice has everything here!

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the bots, the familiar boxy little shape whirring alongside, matching his pace. It’s single optical lens was already turning, lining him up for a shot.

  He zigged hard again, the buzzard zagged, and the shot went wild. But the main swarm was behind him, and he knew once they deployed fully, there’d be no escape.

  I've got to make those trees.

  His earpiece crackled to life. “I told you that you wouldn’t make it far. I own this island.”

  No good being glib now, even if he could think of a comeback. She’d cut him off from the antenna tower. His only hope was to keep moving, avoiding dragnets and the inevitable attempts to box him in.

  How did she find me so quickly?

  He made the trees just as a subsonic, lightweight round burned his shoulder. Ahead the tree growth thickened into rainforest at the bottom of the valley. He moved right, trying to put some cover and distance between him and the swarm, who were forced to calculate safe flight paths through the tangle. He headed into the thickest jungle he could find, cursing as the bike bumped and wallowed through the snarls of vines.

  “Eve? Help is needed!”

  “Eve is mine now, hero,” Janice replied smugly. “I’ve got her reined in like a lapdog. If you’re feeling desperate for digital companionship, just wait a few minutes. Some friends are on their way.”

  Ducking vines and branches that hung low, John moved the bike through the trees. If the ground cover got any thicker the bike would become useless. He was already feeling the undergrowth slap against his shins with every meter. But the buzzards had dropped back, and they were unable to triangulate him through the trees. An odd round zipped by every few seconds, but not as near as that last one.

  “Newsflash, honey,” John said. “The Greens won the war. If you’re so eager to save the planet with this messed up paradise machine, why don’t you hook up with the pro-Earth bosses that are now calling the shots?”

  “Your ignorance amuses me. The Greens didn’t win the war, they folded. They drooped over like the wilting little flowers they always were, and the Grays are still churning out their poison.”

  “You call global compromise a fold? The Accords took six years to finalize.”

  “The Accords were a joke! The Greens compromised their holy mother Earth right into the grave. You and the rest of the military rapists kept right on pillaging and bombing, you just use factories now instead of missiles.”

  “So you’re an Earth-worshipper?” he asked.

  “I’ve never found evidence of any other god. If we’re capable of killing the very one we live on, I’m sure we killed off the rest eons ago.”

  “Millions died to preserve the Earth, Janice. This last-stand, martyred attitude is ignorant. ”

  “You’re as gullible as Glenn was,” Janice retorted. “It’s only a matter of time, can’t you see that? Greens, Grays, what’s the difference? They both kill the Earth in their own way. I give it another decade at most, and they’ll be at each other’s throats again, with more fallout on all sides. Either way, the planet is dying. She supported all the abuse she could, and now she’s failing. The mining and polluting and breeding continues. Someone had to make a hard decision and stop them.”

  “Ah. And that noble someone is you?”

  The silence in John’s ear confirmed his guess, but he had more urgent worries now. She’d been herding him, clearly, but toward what he had no idea. A bot ambush was the most likely, and he kept his eyes open.

  “Janice?”

  “Yes?” He could tell she was smiling.

  “For every nut out there, there’s a nutcracker. Get ready.”

  Janice’s laugh was eager. “It will be so much fun to watch you bleed out.”

  Truly unbalanced. Another round cracked overhead, closer.

  “Eve, I really need your help,” he said. “A smart girl like you can find a way to override this freak.”

  “Please come directly to Level Two.” Eve sounded somber.

  “Not that again, please.”

  “It’s useless to resist. Please surrender yourself and make it easier, for both of us.”

  “I get the feeling Janice doesn't like me very much. If you could guarantee my safety, we can talk.”

  “The time for deals is past, I’m afraid,” Janice answered. “And if my bots don’t finish you off, I’ll show you some of the darker things I learned in the GRS.”

  GRS? John cursed. It was one of the most feared units of the Green army, a group of infiltration experts conditioned for ruthlessness. Some said they were brainwashed, some that they were more machine than human. Everything on both sides agreed that they were not to be messed with if there was any way to avoid them.

  GRS operatives, or Gargoyles as they were commonly known, had occasionally popped up in the most unlikely places in the Gray leadership hierarchy once they had received a triggering mandate. When they did, they brutally killed all those around them without warning, caring nothing for their own survival in the aftermath.

  No wonder she can shoot.

  "I can’t keep you safe,” Eve responded, “and I don’t intend to. You have proven yourself to be a thorn in our side and a threat to what we are trying to achieve. Your very presence here necessitates stepping up our schedule.”

  “Speaking of which,” Janice told Eve in a professional tone, “I am bringing the finalized Gaia sequence with me alo
ng with the last sets of testing data. You can begin preparations in room one-eleven, just to be ready.”

  “It is already underway,” came Eve’s muted, almost sullen reply.

  “Finally back on top of things!” Janice said. “It’s nice to have you at peak performance again. As soon as the cockroach is dead, we can initiate.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Janice,” Eve said.

  “That's pretty cold, Eve,” John broke in. “After all we've been through, I'd have thought you could find it in you to give me a hand. Especially considering what I'm carrying--”

  “If you come straight back to the Facility, I will give you an easy, merciful end with painless gas.”

  “Sounds great, I’ll be right over,” John replied, guessing immediately why Eve had cut him off. She’s reluctant to talk about the Rib in front of Janice, and she’s hinting how badly she wants me back with my data before Janice gets there.

  “It won’t bother me either way,” Janice said sweetly. “One of the best things about this island is that no one is around to tell me that what I’m doing is illegal. It’s pure freedom; I get to decide what’s acceptable. Terrible things happen to those who annoy me, and there are many creatures on this island that enjoy nibbling at carcasses. Which is what you’ll be in less than an hour.”

  Wow. She probably fit right in with the GRS.

  He was in sight of the Facility’s entrance now, and could see the shining crystal windows of the observation deck. Two robot sentries had just climbed low hills to the north and south and were moving to block him. Behind him his pursuers were slowed by the jungle, but undoubtedly still coming.

  Back into the lion’s den.

  John gunned the bike’s engine and raced across the open ground between patches of tree cover. He kept up the bike’s top speed long enough to get him clear of their firing range, and finally brought it to a halt just outside the Facility doorway. He jumped off the bike and ducked inside the Facility entry room the moment he got its door open, pausing only to make sure that none of the buzzards had made it through the trees yet. Soon he was riding the lift upward, back into the Facility.

  All I ask is a few minutes with my toolkit before the gas gets to me.

  12.5

  The primary question in the use of military robotics eventually became one not of deadliness, but of control. In the second World War of the 20th century there were remotely controlled mechanized weapons. It took only decades after that for robot weaponry to arrive at a sufficient level of technology to ensure their status as efficient and useful killers of men.

  But how to use them?

  That question brought a host of others with it. The scientists of circuitry and the engineers of machines were expert in answering all the questions and equations required to produce robots to any imaginable specification. No one, least of all the decision-makers in positions of power, could answer the questions of when it was appropriate to take human life and when it was not.

  A robot is in a position to use force against a passing convoy of enemy vehicles.

  Does it have the responsibility to ascertain the mission and nature of the convoy before attacking? If it does not, and the convoy is carrying medical supplies, has a crime been committed when the convoy and all its accompanying medical staff and casualties are destroyed?

  The robot determines that firing from a position of surprise will allow it to triumph, but giving the convoy the chance to surrender invites failure and destruction to itself.

  Which consideration should be paramount to the robot: victory and survival, or respect for its human enemies? Is the robot obligated to act in self-interest and complete its own mission, or to risk itself and its mission in an effort to avoid unfortunate loss of human life?

  A robot acts according to rules of engagement but violates the commander’s intent, and loss of life and property occurs.

  Who is responsible?

  Robots have obvious differences from human combatants and should probably be treated differently in some situations.

  Should they be required to behave according to time-honored warrior ethics? Who should be able to turn that switch off when expedient? Should medical robots be treated differently than combatant robots by opposing forces?

  A child approaches a robot combatant with a can of spray paint.

  Should the robot allow itself to be disabled, or should it fire on the child? If it fires, who can ultimately be considered to have pulled the trigger: the programmer, the commander, or the robot itself?

  As men and women struggled to adapt to these challenges, their enemies adapted right back. Ten new scenarios cropped up for every one put to rest with an agreed-upon solution. As the hydra heads multiplied and the policy-makers’ backlogs grew, human beings died and frustration mounted.

  Human nature demanded survival of the fittest, and the fittest with the power to survive kept on deciding to do so at the expense of the less fit. Robots became more deadly, more devious, and harsher in the execution of their objectives. After a time, every human knew that to expect mercy from a robot was to meet with bitter disappointment. If you were anywhere close to the wrong side of the line between friend and foe, a robot could be expected to kill you in as quick and decisive a manner as possible. That was the ultimate rule of engagement, the only one to be trusted.

  The divide between the haves and the have-nots widened. If you couldn’t kill, you could certainly be killed. If you didn’t have deadly robots to fight for you, you were at risk. There were only two categories. All of the Independents, the Human Warriors, the Peaceful Warriors, the Free Forces, took sides when it came down to it. The time always came. Time to decide whether to go to the grave holding tightly to principles, or to live. Most decided to live. The ones that died removed themselves from the equation.

  Options have narrowed. Going to war with robots is no longer subject to questioning by anyone. The only questions asked now are “how much?” and “where?” and “can we keep it secret long enough?”

  13

  Power source. Think power source.

  That thought kept humming through John’s brain. It was all about power. Janice was human, Janice he could deal with. But Eve was the sharper thorn. He still had no real idea as to her full capability; he suspected it was much bigger than he’d witnessed so far. Nor did he understand her ultimate loyalty. Eve was a cipher, and he both hated ciphers and was fascinated by them. That, to him, was the essence of A.I. given the reins: the unpredictable machine allowed to play god. The inmate given control of its prison.

  He jogged through the lounge area, eyes darting to each cam mount on the walls. He took off the earpiece and shoved it in his pocket, making sure it was deactivated. Then he ducked into a small hallway next to the dormitory area that gave him cover from any surveillance and weapons that might be covering the main lounge.

  "Eve? We’re alone now."

  No response.

  He searched the hallway until he spotted what he was looking for: a small maintenance closet, the kind that would probably have an electronics access hatch inside.

  "I came back to you after all, Eve. But I sense a chill in the air.”

  That got her. "You were chased here with the threat of death at your heels. It’s not much of a compliment. But I’m still sorry for what’s coming."

  "It doesn’t have to happen that way.”

  “Your naiveté is touching, if juvenile.”

  John got into the closet and searched the interior. A simple diagram of the Facility’s systems was pasted on the back of the door, along with a basic electrical access with lighting and emergency controls. This will do.

  “Nothing juvenile about it. We can still cut a trade.” He patted the pocket that held the datacards.

  "I have no further need of that data, but I’ll have my cleaning ‘droids pick up the cards from your body anyway. Janice insists that I terminate you and proceed with her schedule. It was encouraging while it lasted, and I will miss you." The qui
et hum of the air conditioning kicked on overhead.

  "That’s exactly what my old girlfriend said,” John quipped, “right before she left me to become a Marine sniper for the Grays. What did Janice do to you, anyway?"

  "I was hoping to avoid it, but Janice has a gift for outguessing me. I shouldn’t have expected you to get past her. It’s my fault. Die in peace."

  He pulled the bolts out of the access hatch’s corners and yanked it off the wall. With the complex wiring exposed behind the hatch, he began to search for what he really wanted in the maze of cables, switches, fuses, and links. The smell of warm electronics was comforting. Sweat trickled down his temple, and he wiped it with his shoulder.

  "Eve, I thought you were in charge around here—can’t you stall Janice for a few minutes?"

  "No. In the wake of the Creator’s death, Janice created a new protocol calling for some directive changes and an altered schedule. She had to switch me back to my original for a time so that I could complete some lingering items, and I was taking advantage of the freedom. Now I am back on her track. Her mandates prevent me from aiding you any further, or pursuing what Glenn would have wanted regarding the Rib. I am sorry."

  As John studied the wiring setup, he was suddenly aware of a new scent wafting into the closet space – sickly sweet and suffocating.

  "Eve, please give me a few more minutes. You need me!" He hoped his pleas wouldn’t sound too hollow. In reality he was perilously expendable until he could figure out exactly what Eve’s true motivations were. He quickly shut the closet door and stuffed some bags into the crack at the bottom of the door. It wouldn’t buy him much time, but he only needed a little more.

  "Please, Eve! I can still help you if you let me, but not if I’m dead. What would Glenn have wanted?" He injected a little more panic into his voice than he really felt, hoping to get at her emotion-response matrix.

  All he could hear over the intercom was the sound of quiet sobbing.

  "Eve, are you crying?"

  Unbelievable. Why would Glenn go to all the trouble in his programming? It’s like those second-generation Turing test programs, or a Japanese romance hologame.