The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  Black Winter spread his hands. “It does seem to indicate . . . a keen ability to forecast future events.”

  I thought about it for a minute, then shook my head. “No, I don’t buy it. If your theory is that Jacaranda and this group of machine renegades from the Sentient Cathedral planted the messages in your head—including the one about finding Jacaranda, and the Network of Winds—then Jacaranda should have known about them. But when I brought this up with her in the Sturgeon Building, Jacaranda freaked out a little. She wanted to know how the hell I knew about the Network of Winds.”

  “We have a lot to discuss with Jacaranda, that’s for sure,” admitted Black Winter. “For example, since the portions of the message we understand have turned out to be so prophetic, I remain intensely curious about the parts we don’t understand. Who is ‘Vega,’ and why is her love forbidden? What is ‘the great river’? And if it is true that ‘the gods are at war’ . . . what does that truly mean? Is the Sentient Cathedral at war with the renegade machines—is that possible? And let’s not forget the matter of the dog. I confess to you both right now, I’m not sure I’m ever going to figure that out.”

  I was about to hazard a reply when Sergei abruptly signaled his impatience. “This does not matter. It is meaningless conjecture. We should not be distracted by riddles. What matters is reactor. We will have antivirus in hours, but only if we stay focused. And only if we avoid attention from Hayduk.”

  “Hours?” said Black Winter. “You are that close to synthesizing a counteragent to the pathogen? Is that why you needed to acquire the centrifuges from Columbia College?”

  “Da,” said Sergei. “Reactor is critical issue; this is where our attention should be.”

  “I agree,” Black Winter said carefully. “But in the next few days, I believe it will also be critically important to know who our friends are. Knowing whom we can trust may well make the difference between success and failure. Jacaranda has been crucial to our success already, but I’d like to know a great deal more about who she is.”

  Black Winter paused for a moment before continuing. “And if I may be allowed to speak plainly, she may hold the key to discovering exactly who planted those messages in my brain. That’s not simply an academic ‘riddle’ to me. It’s a mystery I would dearly love to solve.”

  “Yes,” said Sergei, his tone sharp, “let us discuss who are our ‘friends.’ You speak as if the Kingdom of Manhattan is our friend. You show us much secret information collected from the files of Sector One. But only six months ago, you were happy to be allied with Armitage, fighting a war against United States. Six months ago, you were part of San Cristobal Coalition, a secretive machine cabal that brought F5-117 to this country. And now, you tell us your alliances have changed, and we can trust you? Six months is not long enough for that, I can tell you.”

  “Sergei, that’s not fair—” I began. But Black Winter raised his hand to stop me.

  “It’s all right, Barry,” he said. “You’re right, of course, Mr. Vulka. We should have dealt with the issue of trust first. Everything you say is entirely correct. The Kingdom of Manhattan was once part of Panama, a founding member of the San Cristobal Coalition. Her Royal Highness Queen Sophia led the forces that pacified the borough of Manhattan on October 20th, 2080, on the first day of the war. You have every reason to be suspicious.

  “But just as Armitage and his allies misled the world about their true reasons for the war, they also deceived the rest of the Coalition. That became more and more apparent as the conflict dragged on. Her Royal Highness spoke up forcefully—and on record—against the push to drive further into American sovereign territory, but the Panamanian Directorate chose to ignore her warnings. In September 2082, after the collapse of the Clearwater Ceasefire, Her Highness made the brave decision to unilaterally break away from Panamanian authority and declare the Manhattan territory she lawfully administered an autonomous state. She took the very grave risk of signing a binding declaration of nonaggression with the American government and publicly declaring her sympathies with them. In doing so, Her Highness put herself and her machine citizens in enormous jeopardy—and indeed, we paid a very great price for standing up for the truth. Sector One’s casualties were devastating in the next two months, as virtually every member of the SCC—including Panama—brought weapons to bear to break Her Majesty’s will.

  “But we did not break. The United States had no stauncher ally in the last days of the war. We shared critical intelligence—intel that turned the tide of major battles. Her Majesty’s public accusations sowed serious doubts among the other members of the SCC, and the coalition soon found it impossible to fight a war on two fronts. Barely three months after the Kingdom was founded, the SCC agreed to the Memphis Ceasefire, ending the war.

  “I have not shared your names with the members of our intelligence community, nor breached your trust in any way. The members of that community, both man and machine, have assisted in my research, and shared the information you received today, based solely on my statements regarding your good character. We have asked nothing in return.

  “Mr. Vulka, I do not expect to win your trust solely with words. I expect to win it with my commitment to your cause. Sector One is strongly allied with the people of America, and you and I are natural allies.”

  After a speech like that, I wanted to apologize to Black Winter on Sergei’s behalf. But I kept my mouth shut. Sergei, ever the curmudgeon, did not seem impressed by Black Winter’s words.

  “I do not care about politics,” he said. “About who is allied with whom. I care about lives. The pathogen will kill millions of lives. I will do what I can to stop it. You want trust? Help me do this.”

  “I will,” said Black Winter. “I promise you.”

  “Great,” I said, with some relief. “Now that we got that out of the way, let’s get back to what we’re going to do about Jacaranda.”

  “Nothing,” said Sergei. “We are done with her. There is no need for further involvement.”

  “Not so fast,” I said. “Black Winter just said that it’s very important for him to talk to her.”

  Sergei shrugged. “So, talk.”

  “Not a simple thing,” said Black Winter. “Unless either of you knows a convenient way to contact her?”

  Sergei shook his head. “She has been quite persistent in contacting us. I am certain she will do so again.”

  “You may well be correct. When she does, can I count on you both to assist me in setting up a meeting with her?”

  Sergei shrugged again.

  “Of course,” I said. “But only after the antivirus is purified and delivered to Dr. Thibault, agreed? I think we’d all like to keep risky activities to a minimum until then.”

  “Da,” said Sergei.

  “Yes,” said Black Winter. “Very good. I appreciate your willingness to help me with this. I’m anxious to discover just what the rest of the message in my head means.”

  “About that,” I said. “I think you’d better prepare yourself for disappointment. Based on her reaction when I mentioned the Network of Winds, I don’t think it’s likely Jacaranda will be able to shed much light on it. She sure didn’t act like she’s the one who sent me the message, I can tell you that.”

  “Barry . . . is it possible you’re reading too much into her reaction?”

  “I doubt it. What makes you so sure the message came from her?”

  “It’s simple, really. If Jacaranda had nothing to do with the message I gave you when I was unconscious, then where did it come from?”

  “I have no idea. Who else among your machine friends hates Armitage that much? And is smart enough to pull off something like this?”

  “That’s a small list,” Black Winter said.

  “I bet. Might be worth writing all those names down and taking a hard look at them.”

  “It might.”

  “Our biggest clue is the drone jammer. It was touching you with it that knocked you out. Sergei and I had a look a
t it, but we weren’t able to figure out who made it. But you might be able to, if you can bring some of those formidable Sector One resources to bear. If we can determine its origin—who made it, and why—I think we’d be a lot closer to figuring out where those messages came from.”

  Black Winter seemed to be coming around to my way of thinking. “I agree. With your permission, I’d like to do a careful analysis of it at the Consulate. But only when we’re ready. The tricky part is scheduling a human technician to do the analysis. I don’t want to risk it knocking out another machine.”

  “Fine—just as long as we get it back. That thing has saved my ass more than once.”

  “What else do we know about Jacaranda?” Sergei asked.

  “Not much,” I said. “We know she likes to hang out in museums and has a pet dinosaur. That’s about it.”

  I realized then that Sergei hadn’t directed the question at me. He was staring at Black Winter.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” said Black Winter.

  “I mean,” said Sergei, his voice flat, “that you most certainly have been using very impressive intelligence resources of Kingdom of Manhattan to find everything there is to know about Jacaranda and Network of Winds. Yet, you have not shared this information with us.”

  “There is nothing to share,” said Black Winter.

  “I do not think this is true,” said Sergei. “I think there is something.”

  “Sergei, I don’t think—” I began.

  “Let him answer,” Sergei said.

  One thing about robots—they’re usually inscrutable. It’s hard to give away what you’re thinking when you have virtually no facial expressions. But Black Winter still managed to telegraph discomfort for the next twenty seconds.

  I was the first to break. “Black Winter, you don’t have to answer that. We’re not here to grill you—”

  “No, Barry,” said Black Winter, “I think I do. There is something. It is Class Four confidential, meaning I am not authorized to share it with you. But Sergei is right. Sooner or later, we all have to choose what side we’re on. I’m a loyal subject of the Kingdom of Manhattan, but right now, at this very moment, I also choose to be part of this group. To stand with you and Sergei, against a very great injustice. And so, I will commit this small act of treason and tell you what I know.”

  “Good,” said Sergei, with obvious satisfaction. He pressed his palms against the table. “Tell.”

  “You are right. I used every resource at my disposal to learn the identity of Jacaranda and the Network of Winds. There are no such entities in the machine directory of the Helsinki Trustees. But I did find reference to Jacaranda in a highly classified communication from the Panamanian Consulate, dated four months ago.”

  “What kind of communication?” I asked.

  “An arrest warrant. Jacaranda—and a small number of others listed in the communiqué—are fugitives. They are sought by more than thirty nations around the world.”

  “Fugitives?” I said, more than a little surprised. “What are they accused of?”

  “The warrant was not specific.”

  “But you know something,” said Sergei.

  “I have been . . . fairly determined in this search,” said Black Winter.

  He waved at the screen. It had changed again. It now showed the strange contours of an artificial island.

  “This is Nightport,” said Black Winter. “It is home to a very private Thought Machine named Modo. Over the last twenty months, he has built this floating island in international waters, an aquatic technocracy off the coast of Vietnam. Publicly, it trades in energy and salvage. Privately, it also trades in information. Modo is extremely resourceful, and in intelligence circles he has a reputation for scrupulous accuracy. For a price, he was able to supply me with additional details on the nature of the warrant.”

  “Was it worth the cost?” I asked. “What did you discover?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” said Black Winter. “Jacaranda—and the others named in the warrant—are accused of, for want of a better term, race crimes.”

  I looked over at Sergei, but he seemed just as stumped as I was. “Race crimes?” I echoed. “What the hell does that mean? How can a machine be capable of race crimes?”

  “Barry, you told me two days ago, when you first mentioned Jacaranda, that she wasn’t a person, and that you weren’t sure she was a robot, either. You said you didn’t know what she was.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “That statement has proven to be quite prophetic. You know that artificial intelligence was made possible by Katherine Slater, who created the first provably self-aware artificial consciousness in Munich in 2067. Every machine intelligence created since has had a Slater core.”

  “Sure.”

  “What if I were to tell you that, four months ago, the Machine Parliament in London uncovered a small group of machines attempting a restricted transaction in the Bank of London. During the course of their initial investigation, which lasted mere seconds, they were able to digitally assess one of the perpetrators. She was a highly advanced machine intelligence, unlike any other on the planet. And she did not have a Slater core.”

  “Not possible,” said Sergei.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Put it this way,” said Black Winter. “What if you discovered an unknown agent attempting to infiltrate your government—the Canadian Parliament, say. You knew almost nothing about her. But you did manage to snap a blurry X-ray of the culprit, just before she got away. And that X-ray revealed her internal organs were nothing like yours. What would you think?”

  “I’d think that was pretty damn freaky.”

  “Yes. Pretty damn freaky. There is a machine out there—and very likely more than one—with unknown capabilities. She is possibly the product of an entirely separate branch of machine evolution, one that has somehow managed to remain completely hidden. Until she made this one mistake. She represents an existential threat to the entire machine community as it exists today. She’s extremely intelligent and has demonstrated the ability to move invisibly across continents. Dozens of foreign governments are frantically searching for her. And anyone who encounters her is required to immediately report to the Sentient Cathedral.”

  “The Sentient Cathedral,” I said.

  “Have you done this?” Sergei demanded. “Have you told them she is here?”

  “No,” said Black Winter. “I have nothing to report. I have not seen her, nor contacted her myself.”

  “You’re walking a fine line,” I said. “They’d certainly want to be informed.”

  “Yes,” said Black Winter. “They would. As I said, I have made my decision on where my allegiance lies.”

  “Well,” I said to Sergei, “I think that should answer your question on whether or not we can trust him.”

  “Perhaps,” Sergei admitted grudgingly. “But trust is not just about secrets.”

  “What else do you need from me?” Black Winter asked.

  Sergei thought about it for a moment. Then he seemed to make a decision. He lifted his empty plate.

  “Do you have any more sandwiches?”

  XXX

  Friday, March 19th, 2083

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  I brought Sergei the combat suit this morning, packed inside a single piece of luggage. He wheeled it into the command center, and I have to say I wasn’t sad to see it go. Whoever wore that suit became the most wanted fugitive in the occupied territories, and I was more than happy to give up that particular badge of honor, believe me.

  Sergei and I reconvened in the lobby at noon and found a quiet corner away from the cameras to talk. He quickly brought
me up to speed on the progress on the reactor. Everything seemed to be going well.

  “I’m tired of all this good news,” I said. “Let’s change topics. What’s the latest on the mobilization?”

  “First troops will arrive tomorrow,” Sergei said. “There are logistical hurdles to moving in the other regiments immediately, but they could arrive in less than two weeks.”

  “Damn. That’s still a lot of troops in a hurry. How will things change in Chicago? Will there be martial law?”

  “I do not know what is martial law.”

  “It’s . . . well, I guess it’s sort of the way we’re living now. With curfews ’n’ shit, soldiers everywhere.”

  “Then yes,” said Sergei dryly. “There will be a martial law.”

  “Seriously, Sergei. They’re not going to put us all in camps and start questioning us, are they?”

  “No. Colonel Perez, he is very levelheaded. His counterparts, however . . . they have other ideas.”

  “Hayduk.”

  “Yes, Colonel Hayduk. Fortunately, Colonel Perez has jurisdiction over security and well-being of occupied citizens.”

  “That’s a damn relief. I still wish there were some way to publicly expose Hayduk as Armitage’s stooge. He’s going to make trouble for us before this is all over.”

  “Yes. But exposing him will do nothing. Armitage is greatly feared in Venezuela. And having Sovereign Intelligence as a patron is not crime.”

  “No, but killing your own men is. That’s exactly what Hayduk did with a vial of F5-117.”

  “We cannot prove this.”

  “Maybe we don’t have to prove it. Maybe we just have to find a way to share what we know. I’m telling you, when you’re a key player in an attempt to exterminate every human in North America, publicity is not your friend.”

  “This is very dangerous talk. Even hint that we have this kind of information will force Armitage and Hayduk to act. We cannot risk it until Thibault has successfully tested antivirus.”