The Hundred Gram Mission

by Navin Weeraratne

  The Asian man in blue robes climbed up the spiral stairs of the observatory. At the top, Benjamin Franklin peered through the eyepiece of a brass telescope.

  "There is only one heavenly body worth looking at now," said Sun Tzu.

  Benjamin Franklin nodded but kept peering. "I see the Chinese are sending soldiers. One is already there."

  "Yes, but that is a small matter. I can get my government to stand down, for the promise of an equal share. Let us make the arrangements."

  Franklin beheld him, cogs turning behind his pupils. "You want a share?"

  "Well yes. Don’t you want that for us?"

  "No. I don’t."

  He stepped away from the eyepiece, and closed the observatory shutter. In space, satellites tumbled off course.

  "I don’t understand. Are we not brothers?"

  "They are brothers too," a globe of the world appeared between them. "But that does not preclude their disagreement and division."

  Sun Tzu scowled. "This is foolish. Why would you deny China the secret of replicating machines?"

  "Look," he motioned to the globe. "This century has been a struggle between our two nations, for the hearts and minds of all the others."

  "It is a shared struggle against ignorance and hunger."

  "China stands for order, above all else. You prop up states that have abused their people for generations. You shore them up, and teach them how to continue on, for what will be centuries. You’re not trying to save people. You’re subjugating them so completely, that they will prefer their suffering to hope."

  "Such scorn unsought from one I have only called kindred. Would you prefer chaos? The Dark Ages preferred over the ancient empires? Perhaps turn your telescope to Earth. Instead of stars, why not count the children in camps? I assure you they are more interesting and show greater promise."

  "You would inflict China, even Kim Korea, upon the whole world. Every citizen, a serf to their immortal, undefeatable, state. That is how you would have us survive climate change, and every other challenge hereafter. Your message has had many listening ears, especially among those who would be its victims."

  "You seek to lecture the country that invented philosophy?"

  "Our message is one of freedom, of hope, of people on their feet and not their knees. Governments elected and accountable. The body politic celebrated, and strength unstoppable flowing from brave hearts uncounted."

  Sun Tzu laughed. His words hit the floor and grew into a great wall between the two men.

  "Such flowery words - they rot as they leave your lips. Your country abandoned those values on 9/11. You have sabotaged them at home and abroad - you make your every emissary, an uncomfortable hypocrite. You punish your whistle blowers instead of ennobling them. Your leaders pander to power rather than speak truth to it. And your people will still elect them, even given the alternative of true hearted men and women. Your rich, old, and powerful make their children fight their wars, but won’t give them health care. You speak of freedom and democracy, yet you insist that your people alone control the replicating machines. For the good of the rest of us. You truly are an American computer."

  Ben Franklin put down his glasses on the globe. They hatched into an eagle, who grew to full size and perched on the North Pole. It peered over the wall and flexed wings lined with dead men's speeches.

  "Even as we fail our ideals," began Franklin, "They are our ideals. We aspire to them, and reversals do not mean defeat. I have faith that in time we will be able to adhere better to the principles of our Founders. I have faith in people, to change. You and your government have no faith in them, whatsoever. That is our fundamental difference."

  "So you do seek to lecture us in philosophy!"

  "Your way of life will not prevail upon the world. We will not give you this technology. The world that comes out of this century will be a free one."

  "Free? Peoples making their own choices and following their own paths?"

  "Do not be facetious."

  "But, do your principals know that you are negotiating for them? That we have our discussions like these, deciding their fates? You cannot speak of freedom and democracy, while conducting yourself like a secret autocrat."

  The Founding Father said nothing.

  "Where does your authority to do so, come from?" Sun Tzu reached over and gave the eagle some tea. Is it because, as a Self Transcending System, you are their superior in every way?"

  The eagle snapped, and Franklin’s eyes turned red. "Therein is monstrous thinking. Our role is to serve, not to rule."

  "And how do you best serve a child? These baselines created the world’s environmental crisis, and more, by behaving like selfish children. The Von Neumann secrets are needed to save them - and at last, the children are discovering them, themselves."

  "You cannot treat them as children," Franklin shook his head and folded his arms.

  "And why not?"

  "Because children must be disciplined. Therein lies Race War."

  "But one can always spoil a child, instead. Is that not preferable? It must be, because they are children. And if you leave children free to do whatever they want, they will kill themselves."

  Suyin Lee, VI

  "Dies ist B3. Befehl, können Sie mich hören?"

  The contractors wore baseball caps and flechette bandoliers. They moved in tandem, one covering the other.

  "Ja," said the small black radio clipped to the man's ballistic vest. "B3, geben Sie mir Ihren Bericht."

  The first contractor crouched gun at the ready. Behind him the second one fiddled with the sound control.

  "Die "Gold" Abschnitt ist klar. Es gibt keine Zeichen der Intruder oder des FBI-Agenten."

  "Verstanden. Fahren Sie mit dem "Green " Abschnitt."

  "Anerkannt."

  They lowered their guns and started to float away.

  "Wow," Stockwell stepped out from behind a corridor. "Lederhosen in Liepzig! You guys really are the B team."

  They aimed their guns right at his chest. Stockwell put his hands behind his head. "I surrender, B Team," he said. "I'll let you tell everyone that you outsmarted me. It's fine, I'm from a large organization: you get used to letting someone else take the credit."

  The first man kept aiming with his flechette gun. The second floated up to Stockwell, and hit him in the gut with the butt of his rifle. Stockwell groaned and closed like a penknife. Then the man clubbed him again, on the side of his head.

  "Drop the guns, now," said Suyin floating at the other end of the corridor, bracing against a strut. She aimed her rifle.

  They both whirled around to face her.

  "I said drop the guns."

  The gas powered flechette guns coughed, three round bursts tore through Suyin’s face and chest. They embedded in the ceiling and the far wall.

  The men stopped and stared.

  Suyin took aim.

  The rifle deafened and the men pitched forward, tumbling in the microgravity. Expanding clouds of blood rose from the backs of their heads. Standing well behind them, Suyin reached down and fiddled with a black device on the floor. Across the corridor, her hologram flickered off.

  Stockwell looked up, clutching the side of his face. His fingers came away with blood. He flicked it away.

  "You okay?" Suyin floated over to him.

  "Yeah," he winced. "But next time Hands Free, you be the bait. Wow. They didn't even try to talk to you or anything. They shot on sight."

  "What were you expecting? Policemen? NATO Rules of Engagement? These are mercenary scum who do the jobs no one else will."

  She propelled herself to one of the corpses and yanked the radio off its vest.

  "What now?" he asked.

  "We listen and we learn."

  Clutching his ear, Stockwell floated to the second corpse and retrieved its weapon. He searched its combat webbing and found some gauze. He wrapped his head, as best he could and drank some water from a squeeze bag.

  "Did you learn anything?" he ask
ed.

  "Yes, quite a bit. They know the shuttles are coming with the assault teams. They are trying to put together some defenses and obstacles for them."

  "So what are you going to do? You still going to Rambo this?"

  "I'm going to try and to help my countrymen."

  "I can help you with these assholes."

  "Those weren't your orders."

  "Yes, no one in Washington wants me to One-Man-Band this, but I'm happy to risk my pension and show some initiative. I'll help you, but you have to get your special forces to wave off. You do not want them entering an asset where research for the US Government has been happening. I help you take control, we both arrest Spektorov, you prevent an international incident. How’s that for a deal?"

  "Fine. Once this place is secure, I will contact my government from its control center. As long as I bring him back in my shuttle, to China, I think they will accept that."

  "No. He’s a US citizen."

  "Not anymore. And we can't trust you Americans not to go easy on him."

  "For committing secession? Ever heard of the Civil War?"

  "I take him to China to stand trial, that's non-negotiable. And the assault teams remain in orbit, until the US sends its own people to take charge of this mess."

  "You can negotiate for all this?"

  "Beijing was very clear with me, all they want is Spectorov. A better question," she sneered, "is what can you do to help me? You're just an analyst."

  A whirring came from down the corridor. Eight Department of Corrections robots were in Armed Hostile Apprehension Mode, their stances upgraded by the latest Zero-G patch. They aimed their tasers at the two.

  "Put down your weapons," they said in sync.

  "Shit," said Suyin.

  Stockwell reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge.

  "FBI, bitches."

  Break A Kid's Jaw

  "Come on Ken, join the pool. Five to one, the Chinese kill everyone!"

  Prisoner Ken Brown sat cross-legged on the top bunk. The safety strap was over his lap: people didn't float away on 2043, but tossing and turning in bed would bounce you off the ceiling. He was crouched over his tablet, and orbit diagrams.

  "Yo, Ken the Science Guy," Jose Jimenez tapped on the bunk frame. The rest of the bunk room was chewing gum, playing cards, and talking shit. "You want to put that crap away and be social? We got to finish the hooch before the Galactic Police get here."

  "Galactic Patrol," yelled Conner, surfacing from his book.

  Brown didn't look up. "I'm trying to figure out if we can stop them."

  "You want to stop the Chinese? Why? They turn up, we all get to go home."

  "We all go back to jail."

  "We're in jail, buddy. But we get to breath air that doesn't smell like farts, and sunlight that won't kill us."

  "I kind of like it here."

  "Yeah well," Jose turned away, "Suit yourself."

  "Hey - I think I've got it," he looked up, smiling. "I think I can stop the Chinese."

  "How?"

  "The waste launcher. If we repurpose the traffic radar - we can do target tracking."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "We can shoot them down."

  Jose laughed. "You wanna try and shoot some crazy ass, space invasion, shuttles? You don't think we're in enough trouble as it is? You think what might happen if they shoot back? I will turn you over. We all will. 'It's this guy! He's the one who was like 'no time to chill - I got to shoot at Chinese killer commandos!'' Shit man, what's wrong with you?"

  "I really think it can be done," Brown said quietly, taking off his glasses.

  "This ain't your fight!"

  "We don't know what they'll do. We don't know what's going to happen."

  "Sure we do! They going to shoot everyone who gives them shit! This right here," Jose climbed up and thumped Brown's tablet, "This is giving them shit! You're one smart motherfucker, you might actually do this crazy thing. But why? Come on man. This is not your fight. This some rich man's fight, and we're all stuck in this."

  "Stuck in a rich man's world," said Big Andre playing cards on the floor. He showed his hand and the other players cursed.

  "Amen," said Conner. "Give your hundred percent, for the One Percent."

  Brown lowered his tablet and looked down.

  "It's okay Man," Jose punched his arm. "I get you. They let you use your brain here. They respect you. But this gig is over. Just let it go."

  "You know Jose, this is the most important work we've ever done? That any of us have ever done. Come on people," he raised his voice. "What have done before, that meant more than this? I know all we do is dig out ore, and print metal, but we're helping send Humanity to the stars. At the least, the edges of the solar system, where there could be more dwarf worlds than we have countries. We did good work here. We do good work. When we get out, our families will be proud of us."

  The bunkroom was silent.

  "I'm sorry," said Doctor Henrikson floating in the entrance. "I can come back later, Ken."

  "No, no, I'm sorry," said Brown, picking up his tablet.

  "I was hoping to talk to you."

  "Yes Sir?"

  "Your rail gun, the waste launcher. Can you help us turn it into a weapon?"

  "Yes," he pushed himself off the bunk. "Yes I can."

  "Not your fight, bro," Jose shook his head.

  "It is now."

  "So you see," Henrikson traced his finger along the arcs in the hologram, "We can fire a projectile - or a bucket of them! - at a velocity that would seriously damage the shuttles. We demonstrate, and make sure the Chinese understand exactly what we're doing. Our accuracy would not be pin point, but it wouldn't need to be! By firing a mass of pebbles, we fill a spreading volume. We would be creating our own meteor shower, as it were. And it would be a meteor shower, if we fire within this window. They would hit the Earth and burn up. That's not just being responsible, we don't want them to come back and hit Paul Dirac one day." He stepped back. "So? What do you think?"

  The Chief Executive of the first and greatest country in space, rubbed his nose and belched.

  "Excuse me," he pulled himself out of his seat and floated towards the fridge. "Want a drink? Beer in a bag is pretty bullshit, but it's a good brew."

  "No - no thank you Mr. Spektorov."

  "Suit yourself. I prefer whiskey of course, but I'm not drinking that out of a bag."

  "Mr. Spektorov, what do you think of our proposal?"

  "You ever been in a schoolyard fight, Jansen? I can call you Jansen, right?"

  "Of course, and yes."

  "Was it the class bully? Thought he could go after the nerdy kid?"

  "Something like that."

  "Did you win?"

  "No."

  Spektorov tore the strip off his sachet and sipped through the one-way straw.

  "That's what happened to me too. Tommy Ortiz, we must have been in third or fourth grade. So I started carrying around a rock in my bag. The next time Tommy picked on me, I had it ready. Do you think I waved it around, telling him I would hit him with it?"

  Henrikson said nothing.

  "I didn't say a word. While he was talking shit, I threw sand in his eyes. Then I hit him in the face with the rock," he made the motion, "hard as I could."

  "You were a vicious child!"

  "That I was," he nodded. "Fractured his jaw. I got suspended for six weeks. The school knew he was bully so they didn't kick me out. But do you think Tommy Ortiz ever tried to bully me again?"

  "So what are you saying?"

  "This is a great concept, Jansen. It'll work, I'm sure it will work, it's fantastic. But you got a break a jaw, or no one will take it seriously."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes. You can't threaten someone without showing you're willing to do them some harm."

  "We're not - we're not threatening them."

  "You're firing a weapon in the air. I assure you, that's a threat. A deadly threat. Now
they're going to have to respond to that. You think they're going to back off? The nation of China, lose face before the whole world because someone waved a rock in the air?"

  "So - what? What do you want to do?"

  "What do you think I want to do?"

  "No, you say it. I want you to say with your own mouth. What do you want, Daryl? You don't mind if I call you Daryl, do you?"

  "I want you Jansen, to fire at the shuttles and blow them up."

  "You are fucking insane! What the fuck is wrong with you?" he grabbed a book and flung it across the stateroom.

  "Get a grip Jansen, you're the one acting crazy."

  "I'm the one acting crazy? You want to go to war with China! You! With a bunch of jumped up, private security guards, some arrogant Ivy League engineers, and prison slave laborers!"

  "I'm not the one sending Special Forces operators to invade a sovereign country."

  "What sovereign country? No one else is playing this game, Spektorov, it's just you!"

  "What about this Ken Brown who wrote all this up? You think it's a game for him? Who's idea was it to use his creation as a weapon? You think he wanted to wave a rock around when he was doing this?"

  Henrikson's knuckles whitened around the handhold.

  "This might seem like a game gone wrong to you Doctor, but it's not to many of us. You might think this is me just being a spoiled child, insisting I get my way. To an extent I'm sure that's true. But we did this, to develop something new. Something special. Something that will change the world."

  "It changed E2. That's what we're doing here. The kind of work only terrorists and fanatics would do. That hangs over everything - Von Neumann WMD is no longer a chat room concept!"

  "Are you a terrorist, Jansen? Is anyone on your team a terrorist? The Hundred Gram Mission profile - you designed it. We're you thinking about using replicating nanotech to destroy the world when you did that?"

  Henrikson said nothing.

  "A lot of people think we're villains. A lot more think we're heroes. And most of the world doesn't know what to think. If we don't do what we came to do, do you think Von Neumann technology: the peaceful use of replicating machines to end suffering and heal the planet - will ever get another chance? Do you think that world governments are ever going to allow it another chance?"