The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  “Did you see how fast that soldier moved? How he dodged and jumped?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t know how he did that, combat suit or no combat suit. That guy was the luckiest soldier in history.”

  “It wasn’t luck.” Mac came over and stood next to me. “Give me your hands.”

  I gave her my hands. She took them in hers. Hers were soft and warm.

  She positioned my hands so that my right hand was grasping my left wrist. Then she slid her right hand over mine, so that we were both holding my wrist.

  “You’re the soldier,” she said to me. “I’m the suit.”

  “You’re the suit,” I said. Her body nudged gently up to mine. She fit comfortably next to me. Her body felt warm.

  “The suit taps into your brain,” she said.

  Yeah, roger that, I thought. Out loud I said, “Okay.”

  “The suit’s neural connectors are faster than your body’s. So the suit knows when you’re going to move before your muscles do. That’s how the metallic protein enhances both speed and strength.”

  Right now, I was focused on just how good she smelled standing next to me. Out loud, I said, “Okay.”

  “In three seconds, I want you to squeeze your right hand. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I didn’t want her to move away just yet. I wondered how I could prolong this demonstration past the next three seconds.

  “Three, two—”

  A fraction of a second before I squeezed my wrist, Mac’s fingers tightened on mine. Together we gave my wrist a jolt hard enough to hurt.

  She released my hand and stepped away from me, smiling. “See? Simple in conception, not so simple in execution. But in theory, that’s how they work. If America had had just a few more months, we might have been able to field hundreds of suits. But sadly, time was not on our side.”

  Time. My eyes flew wide. “What time is it?”

  “About twelve-fifteen. Why?”

  “Damn. Mac, I hate to do this, but can we continue this some other time? I have to be somewhere.”

  “Of course,” she said. She grabbed her bag and stepped out into the hallway. She kept the smile, but there was disappointment in her voice. “Will you be around for dinner?”

  I found my room key and closed the door behind me, making sure it was locked. I took the bag of food with me. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll look for you downstairs, okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, her voice noncommittal.

  “Thank you for the food, though,” I said as we walked to the elevator. “I mean it. You’re a saint.”

  I left her in the elevator on the seventh floor. I walked down the hall and found Sergei working on the reactor—or standing around while two young women welded piping together, rather. Dr. Lark had made enormous progress, and the reactor was coming together fast. They had the boiler set up, as well as most of the piping. The pressure gauges were in place, and the bio-injector. It looked as ugly as sin, but it also looked impressively functional.

  I tapped Sergei on the back. He frowned when he turned around.

  “I cannot talk now,” he said. He sounded annoyed—or about as annoyed as I’d seen him, anyway.

  “You look terrible,” I said, and it was true. His eyes were bloodshot, and he obviously hadn’t showered or shaved since we’d last spoken. As far as I could tell, he was wearing the same shirt he’d had on during our meeting in the storage shed.

  He turned away, watching the women work. “Reactor is not yet complete,” he said. “We are behind schedule.”

  “I don’t know. It looks pretty good to me.”

  Sergei waved at the big silver vat impatiently. “No—reactor cannot hold pressure. Process control systems are not yet functional. Valves are not installed properly. Insulation on coolant pipes, thoroughly inadequate.”

  “Yeah? Maybe I can help with the process control setup, if you’re using a commercial system.”

  Sergei nodded, already distracted by the women heating the pipe to make a bend. “Do not pinch pipe,” he told them.

  They didn’t look too thrilled to have a cranky Russian supervising every aspect of their work. I put my hand on his shoulder, pulled him away.

  “Come on, take a break. Walk with me, someplace we can talk,” I said.

  Sergei was already looking back over his shoulder. “I should stay.”

  “You sure? I brought lunch.”

  “I do not need lunch.”

  I wordlessly unwrapped one of the bundles from the bag. A warm cranberry scone. Sergei’s eyes wandered to it.

  “When was the last time you ate?” I said.

  “I cannot recall.”

  “That’s what I figured. Come on.”

  Sergei reluctantly followed me to an empty meeting room on the seventh floor. We sat down in a corner, and I handed him the unwrapped scone.

  “At least you’ve been working on the reactor,” I said. “I’ve been trying to stay busy in my room, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “You should remain calm,” he said around a mouthful of scone.

  “Easy for you to say. At least you know what was on Hayduk’s drive. I’ve had nothing but an overactive imagination to help fill in the details.”

  When I mentioned the name, he glanced around the room, suddenly alert.

  “Relax,” I said. “There are no cameras in this room. I checked with someone who knows.” Black Winter had been right—Zircon Border had been only too happy to divulge the areas of the hotel where the Venezuelans had cameras. I could see that he was a machine worth cultivating a friendship with.

  I’d spent over ninety minutes in the lobby with him yesterday, happily conversing with his pod in the Bay of Fundy. “They love to meet new people,” Zircon Border told me proudly. That wasn’t really true of most of the adults, but there was an adolescent porpoise with an insatiable curiosity about all aspects of land-based life. Before our conversation ended, she’d extracted a promise from me to visit when the pod returned next summer.

  “She’ll hold you to it,” Zircon Border warned me. “I hope you meant it.”

  “Oh, I meant it,” I said. “Who can resist having a porpoise who’s anxious to meet you?”

  When I assured him about the lack of cameras, Sergei relaxed only marginally. “All the same, do not mention name.”

  “Fine.” I took a bite of a taco, chewed slowly for a few moments. “What was on the drive?”

  “We are still processing.”

  “What?”

  “Drive is heavily partitioned. No way to access multiple sections with single authentication code.”

  “You know what? I don’t really care about the other partitions. I’m not all that interested in what other dirty secrets he was hiding. I just want to know what he knew about the pathogen, and especially what it has to do with . . . our recent enemy.”

  Sergei nodded. He answered in a low voice, and I had to strain to hear him. “Drive contained instructions on how to recognize virus and genome for antiviral agent.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said, ‘We’re still processing.’ ”

  He nodded again. “I have been working with Jacaranda to excavate additional partitions on drive. Some appear inaccessible. But three others respond to low-level operating system queries.”

  There were so many objectionable aspects to this, I wasn’t sure where to start. “You’re . . . you’re working with Jacaranda? Have you seen her?”

  “No. But she has communicated with me . . . in rather unusual way.”

  “Let me guess. An email with no return address, or some weird shit like that.”

  “She is using most secure channels of AGRT military communications infrastructure. And yesterday, she used inter-sector mail service to send me encrypted disk. It is . . . very unorthodox.”

  “You’re sure it’s her?”

  He took another bite of scone. “It is her.”

  “Even if it is her, that doesn’t mean this
is a good idea. In fact, I think it’s a terrible idea.”

  “She has provided invaluable assistance with pathogen—and continues to assist. Without her, we would not have critical equipment. This morning, she procured vital valve replacement.”

  “None of that means she’s not dangerous. I’m just saying, be careful.”

  “The pathogen is top priority.”

  “If that’s true, why are you still playing around, trying to hack the drive?”

  “There may be additional information about source of pathogen on other partitions.”

  “What have you learned so far?”

  “F5-117 is a weaponized bioagent. However, it is not registered in SCC bioarsenal, and is completely unrelated to any other biological agent. It does not have hallmarks of bioengineered organism.”

  “Jacaranda said something about your original assumption being wrong. She said it wasn’t a bioengineered virus. She said it was ‘much more insidious in character and genesis.’ What the hell does that mean?”

  “It is very old disease. I cannot be certain where it came from, but I do not believe it was created.”

  “An old disease?”

  “Files on drive reference outbreaks of F5-117 on Japanese island of Okushiri in 1879 and 1880, and again in Korea in 1899. Historical records refer to all three instances as extremely deadly plagues of unknown origin. High fatality rates in all cases. Information on drive references Project Tinker, highly classified bioresearch operation controlled by Sovereign Intelligence prefecture.”

  “Armitage,” I said quietly.

  “I believe he is funding a large-scale program to research, identify, and isolate the most dangerous viral and bacteriological pathogens in human history. F5-117 is one small aspect of the research.”

  “But why? If you want to kill humans on a mass scale, a bioengineered virus is a lot more controllable—and potentially just as deadly.”

  “F5-117 is not traceable,” said Sergei. “Is not registered and has no distinguishing biomarkers. There is currently no mechanism to create bioweapon without biomarkers.”

  “So you think Arm . . . our enemy wants a way of killing humans on a mass scale, without any evidence pointing back to him.”

  “Exact.”

  “God. He really is a massive dick.”

  Sergei finished the scone quietly.

  “Let’s change topics,” I said. “How goes the search for the American war criminal?”

  “It has been completely co-opted by Colonel Hayduk. It is now a military intelligence matter.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to be forgotten. Is the colonel likely to show interest in civilian suspects?”

  “The colonel has reputation for being very thorough. He will search everywhere. He has already instructed AGRT soldiers to install metal detectors in public buildings, likely in search for suit.”

  “Wait a minute—was that what I saw the soldiers in the lobby constructing this morning?” About half a dozen men in uniform had been working on something by the entrance when I went down for breakfast.

  “Da. They will likely seal all hotel exits not equipped with detectors. Guests will be forced to enter and exit through detectors.”

  “Well, that puts an end to any thought of walking around in the combat suit.”

  “Da,” said Sergei. “You cannot get it past sensors.”

  That was a shame—especially given the risk I’d taken to sneak the damn thing past the guards in the lobby two nights ago. But since I had no serious plans to ever wear the suit again, I guess it wasn’t a real inconvenience. Hearing that Hayduk was expanding his search to civilians was unnerving, however.

  “What about the camera logs?” I asked. “If Hayduk searches those, I’m in a lot of trouble.”

  “Da. However, he has made no request for logs, and hotel erases them after five days. All evidence of you in museum clothing will be gone in two days.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “There is one interesting development. I have heard from senior officers under Colonel Perez that attack on Sturgeon Building was meticulously planned operation, with assistance from inside.”

  I snorted. “If only.”

  “Images have circulated of American criminal who planted flag on roof. According to digital records, he is several inches shorter than you.”

  I chewed on that for a moment. “That’s impressive.”

  “Yes. I have been unable to acquire images to verify. But we may assume Jacaranda has been very effective at disguising your identity.”

  “Just as she promised. You know, I can see why you like her. I must admit, she’s starting to grow on me, too. Any more theories on just who she is?”

  “I have been frustrated in all my efforts to discover. There is no record of anyone matching her description in Helsinki Trustee register of rational devices. She will not answer questions about origin. And she is . . . unusual.”

  “Unusual how?”

  “Speech patterns. Capabilities. She exhibits cognitive speed and reach I have seen only in extremely advanced machines. And yet . . . she is strangely personal. Focused. Friendly, almost.”

  “Maybe she likes you. Or maybe she really is a new species of rational device.”

  “It is one explanation. We need to know more about her. You agreed you would reveal individual who mentioned Jacaranda to you—and Bodner-Levitt extermination. It has now been over forty-eight hours.”

  “I said I’d talk to him.”

  “And?”

  “He’s agreed to talk to you. Personally. In two days.”

  “That is good. Who is it?”

  “Nineteen Black Winter. A mobile machine intelligence attached to the Manhattan Consulate. I met him the morning of the Juno attack.”

  “I remember.”

  “He could be very helpful. He’s agreed to use Sector One resources—discreetly—to find out what he can about F5-117 and Hayduk’s involvement. And he’s agreed to explore other avenues as well.” I told Sergei what Black Winter had already revealed about the Bodner-Levitt extermination, and the chilling possibility that a faction of Greater Sentiences had elected to use F5-117 to bring it about.

  Sergei listened quietly. “You have trusted him with a great deal.”

  “He’s trusted me as well—what he told me about the BLE, and the conspiracy of machines that may be trying to make it happen, is information that’s actively suppressed by the Sentient Cathedral. But I want you to meet him, judge for yourself. If he doesn’t win your trust, that will be the end of his involvement.”

  “This conspiracy of extermination . . . it is very far-fetched. Like antimachine propaganda, portraying machines as petty and vindictive. It is like uninformed rumors that first spread among the uneducated when DeepHarbor announced creation of first artificial intelligence and led to Wallace Act here in America. It is machine phobia.”

  “I know. I’ve thought a lot about the BLE in the last few days, believe me. The fact is, Sergei, when the US Congress passed the Wallace Act, machines with the power of nation-states didn’t even exist. That was the nightmare scenario. Today there are just as many countries run by machines as humans. And it’s not far-fetched at all to think that more than a few might be well pleased by the extermination of mankind. Think about the Antarctic Coalition, somewhere under the Lambert Glacier. No one even knows how many of them there are. But we know they crushed half the Chinese navy and annexed Taiwan. Or the machines that seized power in a military coup in Thailand, driving the government into exile.”

  “So you believe it? This theory of human extermination?” Sergei’s expression showed he was clearly skeptical.

  “I don’t know for sure what I believe. Let’s say right now I’m keeping an open mind. I’d like to hear what Black Winter comes up with.”

  “You think he is trustworthy?”

  “I do. But I’d like your opinion. I don’t know what he knows about Jacaranda, but he’s highly motivated to find what
he can. I think he’s willing to share what he discovers with us. Frankly, everything about Jacaranda makes me a little nervous. There’s a lot we don’t know about her.”

  “We know she has methods of data access far in advance of ours. For example, she knew data on F5-117 was in colonel’s possession, and that it contained the counteragent.”

  “You think she has access to secure communications between the Armitage prefecture and Venezuelan Military Intelligence? Because you’re talking far, far in advance of our capabilities, if so.”

  Sergei shrugged. He was eyeing my tacos with some suspicion. He picked one up, took an experimental bite. I watched him devour the whole thing.

  “I think you should destroy the drive,” I said.

  “You are concerned we will be discovered?”

  “It’s a sophisticated piece of hardware, with security apparatus we know nothing about. It’s not far-fetched to think the thing could rat us out somehow. We’ve got what we need off it—we should destroy it. Smash it, or burn it. The colonel won’t stop looking for it until he finds it.”

  “He wants drive, yes. But he wants suit more.”

  “What—the combat suit? Seriously?”

  “Very much. I believe most of his efforts are focused on search for suit.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Not certain. Perhaps he thinks it will be easier to find suit than drive. Chiefly, however, I believe Hayduk wants suit. Very much.”

  If I couldn’t step outside the hotel with the combat suit, it wasn’t much use to me. “If it gets him off our backs, he can have it. I don’t want it.”

  “I would not advise. You wore suit for several hours. There will be dead skin, hair. It will be difficult to clean suit enough that it is not traceable back to you.”

  “Well, let’s get rid of the thing then. We should have thrown it in the barrel and burned it with the rest of my clothes.”

  “No,” said Sergei. “You cannot burn suit.”

  “There must be some way to get rid of it.”

  “We will think on it,” said Sergei. “But I think suit could be useful.”

  “If you say so.”

  Sergei was into his second taco. I was about to reach for the last one, and decided it would probably be best to let him have it. This was likely his first meal in days.