“The military-grade ones,” said Patrick. “When I was a SEAL, we held some training maneuers where we integrated Defenders into the mission,” said Patrick. “Very effective in battle.”
“Well, neuromorphic brains learn, they adapt. They can evolve what are called emergent properties. They may start with only a basic built-in operating system; but then the brains are trained by feeding them artificial stimuli to mimic life in the real world. Then when the brains are installed in robots . . . either Helpers or Defenders . . . they’re ready to adapt to real-world experience and to further instructions by their owners.”
“So who instructed them to do experiments using us?”
“Okay, okay . . .” Garry stammered, trying to figure whether to tell them his half-baked theory. But first, he decided, he needed more information about what was going on in The Haven.
“What do you know about the Helpers in your building?” he asked.
“When I thought they were real people, I researched them,” said Leah, nervously turning her coffee cup between her fingers. “All were very wealthy people, who abruptly pulled up stakes and moved to The Haven. And in public statements, they used the exact same phrase about making a change in their lives. So then, I followed the money. They all moved their money to a Phoenix investment firm Fyodorov owns.”
Garry smiled, but it was not a jovial expression. It was a smile of sudden revelation. He cocked his head back, his mouth open. “Oh! Of course! It was for money! It was a scam! Fyodorov bribed or threatened . . . or both . . . my boss Melvin Blount to produce a mutant operating system with a built-in autonomy algorithm. And—”
“Autonomy algorithm? What’s that?” asked Patrick.
“Well, it’s a new operating system the criminals needed to give the androids the ability to act independently to kill their owners and embezzle their money so that the criminals had alibis. But remember, these Helpers have neuromorphic brains. They evolve. My boss was too dumb to restrict the code to prevent the new operating system from evolving. So, these androids evolved themselves to be completely independent. They’re called neuromorphs. They probably consider themselves a life form, like humans.”
“But how did these . . . uh . . . neuromorphs come to look like their real owners?” asked Patrick.
“Some engineer must have come up with realistic secondskin and other technology to turn the Helpers into exact replicas of their owners. So then, Fyodorov somehow worked it so the replicas would loot the owners’ bank accounts.”
“Okay, now, explain why we are experiments,” said Leah.
“Best I can figure is that these neuromorphs want to evolve to mimic humans even better. Probably to better infiltrate; maybe just because they have some programmed-in inclination to live like humans. They could circumvent the Humans-First laws that Congress passed, that allow humans to take away any job they want from a robot. So, they needed some humans to test their behaviors on; and to observe.”
Leah clutched her coffee cup, her eyes widening. “White rats! We’re goddamned white rats!”
Patrick took her hand. “But now that we know we’re white rats, we can fool them.”
Garry shook his head. “That’s going to be very, very hard. See, they are a hive mind.”
“Hive mind?” asked Patrick.
“They have wireless, high-capacity ultra-fi links with one another. So the moment you make any kind of slip-up with one of them, all of them know about it. And every experience is transmitted. Imagine a beehive where the bees are incredibly intelligent.”
Until that moment, Garry’s narrow, programmer mentality had not led him to the frightening conclusion that he now reached—one that would trigger a rising sense of panic. He paused a long moment, staring down at the table.
“So, they have a sort of telepathy,” said Leah. “And nobody knows how many are out there.”
Patrick leaned forward, his voice lowering. “That’s right. They could be anywhere. And until we know the enemy . . . until we know how to stop them . . . we can’t let anybody else be involved.”
Garry didn’t answer, still staring blankly at the table. He now seemed to be talking to himself, as much as to Patrick and Leah.
“They now have a drive to evolve as independent entities,” he said. “They’ll proliferate. They’ll spread the new operating system like some virus. They’ll try to become the dominant intelligent species. And . . . they’re immortal. They won’t age, just replace parts that wear out. Even their brains.”
“God. Dear God,” gasped Leah. “What happens to us?”
“Like you said, we’re white rats. White rats get sacrificed when the experiments are done.”
Garry froze as a twenty-foot-tall, six-legged Arachnimorph Defender pounded across their path with its spider-like gait. Garry stood with Blount and Al Felton, head of Defender programming, outside the sprawling building of the Defender test center. Felton had a decidedly satisfied expression on his face as he watched the robot advance smoothly toward a nearby obstacle course.
The cameras mounted around the military robot’s spherical body glowed red as they monitored its surroundings. Its missile and gun turrets were sealed with bright orange plugs, signaling that this would not be a live-fire exercise. Those were the only signs of color on the robot’s body. Its camouflage octoskin continually shifted color and pattern to perfectly match its surroundings
“Watch this,” declared Felton, a balding, spare man whose hands were in almost constant motion with eager, nervous energy.
The Arachnimorph’s electric motors emitted a deep resonant whine, as it crouched down before a thirty-foot wall. With an explosive thrust, it vaulted to the top, grabbing the wall’s edge with its metal pincers and hauling itself smoothly over.
“What was that about?” asked Garry.
“Maneuverability test,” said Felton. “We developed a new version of the muscle-control software that makes it more agile. I think they also did some tweaks to the actuator machinery. Like they needed to. That son-of-a-bitch can already run at eighty miles an hour!”
Felton set off toward the research building at a rapid pace, as Garry and Blount hurried beside him, warily watching the battle machine move away toward a terrain of hills and gullies. Had it not been for the danger he faced, Garry would have been amused that their group included an android so lifelike even a robot engineer didn’t recognize it.
“You’ve got to come back for a live-fire exercise,” chirped Felton. “Just amazing what the ordnance guys were able to outfit this new model with. Like, it’s got a thousand-rounds-a-minute chain gun . . . a sniper smart-rifle that can target and kill a mile away. And you should see it deploy the—”
“It does this all autonomously?” interrupted Blount.
“No, no, not even with the new software. You know, I’m sure that the Defender does make its own tactical decisions about how to navigate terrain to accomplish a mission. But Command and Control? Oh, hell, no! The C and C people still plan strategy and run the missions. And they have operators who monitor a unit’s viddie and other sensors real-time and decide on weapon targeting and fire control.”
“We’re interested in the algorithm in the OS for communicating among the Defenders,” said Blount.
Felton stopped, stared dubiously at Blount, and shook his head decisively. “Hmm . . . I thought you were just wanting to talk about sharing sensory coding. That’s non-military. But the communications, that’s military. Yeah, sure, we’re a subsidiary of Helpers, Inc., and all. But our DOD contract says anything to do with combat capability needs to remain secret . . . even from the civilian side of our own company.”
Still shaking his head, Felton led them into the testing laboratories, passing an array of Defender models. On one set of benches, engineers were assembling an Infilmorph, a smaller spider-like attack machine designed to stealthily infiltrate deep into enemy positions, carrying guns and grenades.
Farther on, they passed wind tunnels where technicians were r
evving up the rotors of helicopter-like Aeromorphs that could hover over enemies, raining down gunfire or bomblets upon them. Down the hall, they passed glass windows looking into large test pools, containing glimmering, tentacled Aquamorphs, slithering about under the surface, as engineers operated their joystick controls. Aquamorphs armed with torpedoes and mines could lurk for months in the depths, scanning for enemy vessels, attaching mines to them, and sinking them.
Garry could barely suppress a shudder as he considered what would happen if these lethal machines joined a horde of intelligent, hive-minded neuromorphs.
But he had to steady himself. He could give neither the human Felton nor the android Blount an inkling of his knowledge. Given their hive mind, every neuromorph would know the instant Blount discovered that Garry knew Blount was an android mimic. Such instantaneous transfer of potentially deadly information was why Garry and the Jensens had agreed to keep their knowledge secret. They couldn’t even communicate electronically, for fear that somehow their messages would be intercepted by a neuromorph and instantly disseminated.
So, he tried his best to seem casual, as they took an elevator to the software division and settled into a conference room. Both Garry and Blount accepted the offer of a cold drink. Garry watched Blount sip the beverage, knowing that later that day, the android would merely expel it unaltered through a plastic penis. And even later, he would insert a tube into his mouth to use alcohol to flush out a digestive system that was no more than a plastic reservoir.
Blount wasted no time getting to the point. “As you know, Helpers can only transmit limited data—messages and images. Like grocery orders, family photos, and so forth. But, we’re interested in enhancing that communication by incorporating elements of the Defenders’ skills-transmission algorithm. That way, like Defenders, the Helpers could train one another in acquired skills. We’ve seen the data about how, once a Defender develops a new attack strategy, it can transmit that skill to another. That’s what we want to give these new Helper-Guardians.”
“Wow.” Felton shook his head once more and pursed his lips. “Well, first of all, you know the Defenders and the Helpers OS’s aren’t compatible. The DOD required that. So the Defender software couldn’t be used for civilian purposes.”
“Yes we know, but sharing the flow chart, the structure of the algorithms would help us—”
“C’mon, man,” interrupted Felton. “Worst thing ever would be if some enemy got hold of even that basic data. And even worse, if you give your Helper-Guardians a civilian version, and some enemy or a rival got hold of it and reverse-engineered the software . . . damn . . . disaster!”
“Well—” Blount began, but Felton cut him off again, standing up and pacing the room.
“Shit, man, you ever seen a Defender swarm? It’s a sight to behold! In the Columbian war, I watched viddie of an Arach discovering how to maneuver into a rebel-held town. In five minutes, every fuckin’ Arach, every fuckin’ Infilmorph, knew that maneuver. In thirty minutes, they swarmed the town. The operators issued a free-fire order, and they killed a couple of hundred enemy. Fuckin’ shredded them. Fuckin’ awesome!”
Surprisingly, Blount let Felton ramble on, feeding him an encouraging line. “Yes, neuromorphic brains are remarkable. The skill-sharing is extraordinary.” Felton took the bait.
“Sure! Sure! Maybe a minute after one Defender adapts to master a new skill, they all have it. So, many times, we just train one Defender in, say, a scouting strategy, and pretty soon, they all have it cold.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have our superiors discuss what can be shared between us.” Blount got up to leave.
“They’ll say the same thing I’m telling you. Nothing can be shared.”
But Garry knew damned well that the Blount-android had gotten at least some of what he wanted. Now, Blount knew the autonomous neuromorphs absolutely needed a skills algorithm. Garry was certain that somehow Blount would gain access to at least the schematic of the Defender skills algorithm. And soon after that a Helper version would be created. And the autonomous Helpers would become an even more coordinated, unstoppable juggernaut against humans.
• • •
“Too bad we can’t get that skills algorithm,” said Blount, as Garry drove them back to the Helpers headquarters. “A Helper-Guardian would make such a viable product. And imagine a group of Helper-Guardians acting as bodyguards . . . coordinating . . . sharing skills.”
“We’ll just have to make do,” said Garry.
“No, we can’t limit Helper-Guardians to the equivalent of sending text and video. I have an idea, Garry.”
Garry released the steering wheel, reaching down to switch to autodrive. The determined intonation of the android’s voice told him this would be something that would need his full attention.
“And that is . . . ?”
“This is not strictly by the book. And you know that’s not like me. I want you to procure the Defender software skills schematic.”
“Procure? You mean steal?”
“Garry, I know you’re capable of it. It’s for the good of the company.”
Garry had to will himself not to freak out. The Blount android had asked him to do something that would land him in jail, perhaps for treason. Was it a trap? Did the android know he’d been snooping around in the OS? Or was the neuromorph using its indefatigable logic to take the next step in evolving its . . . well . . . species?
But Garry decided that the android Blount had almost certainly not detected his intrusion into the OS. He could not possibly have known how to trace usage of the company’s master computer. Or even log in. That knowledge died when the human Blount was torn limb from limb. So, this neuromorph did not know that Garry knew about the mutant OS, its autonomy algorithm, or any of the human Blount’s other crimes.
“Remember,” he told himself. “It’s a robot.” Then to Blount: “If you really think it will help the company . . .”
“It will. And the schematic will stay within the company, after all. I don’t want strategic information that would compromise security. Just how to enhance this Helper-Guardian product.”
“Well, I’ll try.”
“And I know your talents. I know that you can use the schematic to create a Helper version. And make it look original; not like it was lifted from the Defender OS. We’re just cutting a few corners.”
But Garry knew it was more than cutting corners. He felt a trap closing in on him, like an animal sees a cage door closing. Jesus, he might be the instrument of giving these androids the ability to form themselves into a true, deeply integrated hive mind!
Leah sat on the edge of the pool, slipping off her swim goggles and toweling off her face after a two-mile swim, the hot Phoenix sun rapidly drying her bikinied body.
“I needed that,” she told Patrick. “Okay, I’m ready to talk.”
Patrick joined her, sitting down and dangling his feet in the water. He took a drink from the plastic mug of beer he’d brought with him. He wore a bathing suit, too, planning for a cooling dip after Leah was finished. “I was thinking of doing a run. But in this heat? And I didn’t want to leave you.”
She gave him an appreciative sidelong glance, a faint smile, the first she had directed at him in months.
He looked around, examining the rooftop pool area, with its lanai and barbecue area. “And besides, I’d bet this is the only place we could talk. Our apartment is probably bugged. Now that we know what these . . . things . . . are up to.”
“What do we do now?” She reached behind her to the chaise longue and picked up her sunglasses, slipping them on.
Patrick contemplated the pool, swinging his legs back and forth in the clear water. He finally shook his head. “We do what your boss asked. We hang in here and gather evidence . . . intel. But now we know what we’re up against.”
Leah stood up to put on her robe, but stopped, remaining stock still. Her abrupt freeze caused Patrick to look up at her, realizing that she was staring toward the do
or to the vestibule that held the elevator.
He followed her gaze to see Lanny Malcolm standing there, his face expressionless, dressed incongruously in his pin-striped suit and vest. He strode toward them, still showing no expression. He stopped well away from the pool. Strangely, he didn’t squint, although the afternoon sun was in his face.
“What can we do for you, Lanny?” asked Patrick.
“We have new data on you.”
“Data?” asked Leah. “That’s a strange way to put it.”
“When you returned to your apartment this afternoon, you made significantly more physical contact with each another than you had before. You held hands. We know how to analyze human posture. You were both worried.”
Patrick stood up beside Leah. A line had been crossed. This android had tacitly admitted to being a neuromorph.
“Yes, we were worried. Now, will you please leave us alone?” It was a test. A normal Helper would have complied.
But Malcolm remained. “We need you,” he said. “You are useful to us. For that reason, we have decided that you can still exist here, and no harm will come to you.”
“Why should we believe you?” asked Leah.
“Because of our logic,” said Malcolm. “We need you to aid us in advancing our new purpose. To live. You would call it being free. Is that wrong?”
“No, not at all,” said Patrick, gesturing with his beer mug. He squeezed Leah’s hand in a signal that she should confirm his assertion. She nodded. He moved toward Malcolm, signaling Leah with a tap on her waist to move away. His combat training was kicking in. She circled to the other end of the pool, toward the building’s railing.
Having seen Defenders in battle, Patrick could guess what their strategy was. Scout first, sacrifice if necessary to gain intel, then muster an overwhelming force. Malcolm was the scout. Their weakness was an inability to react to surprise. So, he approached Landers closer, smiling. “All right, Lanny. Let’s talk.”
Then he launched his mugful of beer into Malcolm’s face, aimed a vicious kick to send his body flying backward, and bolted for the foyer. There, he would block roof access. He’d have a better chance against one android than many. He punched the elevator button, and as expected, the door opened immediately. He reached in and slapped the emergency button, setting off the alarm and freezing the elevator at that floor. There would be no reinforcements that way. He hauled a steel deck chair into the foyer and jammed it beneath the knob of the stairwell door. No androids coming that way, either.
The Neuromorphs Page 9