Mitchie cranked up the turbines to brake at thirty gravs as they reached the ground. The landing gear screeched at the impact, but not loudly enough for the springs to be broken. She announced, “Clear to deploy,” on the PA.
The ventral camera showed infantrymen roping out of the ship as soon as they could fit under the opening doors. The first squad ran to the bunker.
“Centurion Hiroshi, I’m deploying with the boffins. You have the ship. If the bunker blows up grab all the survivors you can and get out of here.”
“Aye-aye, ma’am.”
The research team stood at the edge of the cargo hatch waiting for the infantry to give the all-clear. Guo had attached the personnel cage to the cargo crane’s hook. Pete’s gear filled it. The other researchers wore backpacks or slung bags with their equipment.
Captain Kim’s voice came over Mitchie’s handcomm. “Bunker is clear, ma’am.”
She thanked him then said, “Let’s go.” She grabbed onto the outside of the cage. Pete squeezed in and sat on a box. The rest started down the rope ladders.
Guo hooked his arms through the bars of the cage and fiddled with the crane remote. It lifted the cage up, out, and down to the ground. All of the gear sat on large-wheeled carts, suitable for hauling across grass. Pete grabbed the lead of the biggest one and hauled it out with a grunt.
“Pitch in, everybody,” said Mitchie. She took the next cart’s rope and pulled. Guo and the researchers took more. The squad assigned to bodyguard them hung back until she gave their sergeant a firm look. Then he ordered them to sling rifles and help.
As they passed under a low branch a squirrel declared it was his tree and they weren’t welcome. “Relax, critter,” muttered Mitchie. “We’re just visiting.”
Guo said, “It’s eerie. Squirrels, birds, butterflies, all just like normal. But no people.”
A corner of the bunker had obliterated the south end of Photakis Village. The rest was unharmed. The faux-wood houses were painted in green and brown to blend peacefully with the trees. Most of the doors stood open.
Mitchie looked for the piles of pureed flesh she’d seen her last time walking on Demeter. The weather and wildlife had removed everything but some ominous stains.
Captain Kim waited by the bunker entrance, the faceplate of his helmet open. “It’s secure, ma’am,” he reported. “No shots fired. There were some bots but we broke them up by hand.” He flexed his armored glove to illustrate. His men carried debris out, making a pile to the left.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Take charge of the perimeter. Keep me posted on enemy activity.”
He trotted off with a rattle of armor.
Pete pressed ahead into the tunnel. “Yes! Oh, it’s beautiful!”
Mitchie followed. The bunker’s core was a rectangle of space, far smaller than the outside. Even rows of the black data storage blocks they’d seen on the fleeing ship filled it.
The rest of the researchers were pressed into helping Pete assemble his tools. Half the carts fit together to form a single oversized computer.
Chetty went with the sergeant as the bodyguard squad scoured the bunker for any threat missed by the assault team.
Mitchie’s comm crackled with a report from Kim. “Three airbots came our way. The destroyers got ‘em.”
Pete unplugged the nearest block from the cables built into its rack. He then attached the connector leading to his monster machine. Complex figures began to dance across its display. “It’s chemistry,” he said. “Same format as the other blocks. Let’s see what’s in there. Water, water, more water . . . filter for size . . . an ethanol molecule. Interesting.” He kept typing as his mutters faded into unintelligibility.
Chetty directed the other researchers to survey the blocks. He said to Mitchie, “At first glance they were all storage units like this. But it wouldn’t take many processing units to make this a powerful artificial intelligence node.”
She tagged along with them for a dozen rows. Confirmation that block after block had identical interfaces finally palled. Stepping out of the bunker let her eavesdrop on the infantry’s radio chatter. Movement in the woods was enemy bots scouting their positions or overexcited privates panicking at the wind, depending on the speaker’s rank.
Mitchie went back in. Some of the research team clustered around Pete watching him explain his latest discovery. “The pattern of proteins and lipids indicates a cell boundary. We are not looking at chemistry but a high-fidelity biological simulation.”
His audience began speculating on why the AI might want to study biology. Some were far-fetched enough to make the Terraforming Service’s genetic engineering program sound tame.
Chetty asked, “Ma’am, could you come take a look at this?”
Mitchie considered his tone alarmingly formal.
He led her to a niche in the back of the bunker. When he grabbed the edge of the object and pulled it out from the wall she realized it wasn’t in a shadow. It was colored flat black.
She stepped back. Chetty held one of the squares which had swallowed the people of Demeter.
“It’s deactivated,” he said. “No power. I poked it with a stylus and nothing happened.”
“Let’s assume it reactivates if something organic comes near.”
“Yes’m. There’s a power input plug here, I think it needs that to function.”
“All right,” said Mitchie. She didn’t come closer.
“There’s also data connectors, a massive array of them.” He wiggled the square to show the metallic grids on the left and right sides. “I think this must have been outputting data when it, um, processed someone.”
“You are not putting anyone through that. Not even a finger.”
Chetty said, “No—but if we used one of those squirrels outside it could tell us what the AI actually did to everyone.”
Mitchie thought about it. “Fine. Set it up to collect the data. I’ll get you a squirrel.”
Chetty began carrying the two-meter square toward Pete’s nest, staggering a bit under the load.
She went outside to find the bodyguard squad. “Sergeant Boma!”
“Coming, Ma’am!” The voice came from above. The NCO skidded down the side of the bunker. At the top two soldiers were digging holes. “What can I do for you?”
“The boffins need a squirrel.”
“Ma’am?”
“Please catch a squirrel. Alive. Or some other animal at least that size,” she said.
Sergeant Boma had the familiar expression of an NCO who couldn’t say what he wanted to say because it would be insubordination.
“Just one will do,” she said.
Boma said nothing.
Mitchie said, “It’s . . . for science.”
The sergeant took a deep breath. “One live squirrel or equivalent, yes, ma’am. Anything else, ma’am?”
“No, that’s all.”
Boma turned about and profanely ordered three privates to report to him.
Mitchie re-entered the bunker to find the researchers arguing loudly. Pete and his supporters insisted on the need to analyze a single data block in detail. An interruption seemed to be the worst thing they could imagine in the project. Chetty stressed the importance of understanding the AI’s activities toward their mission.
She listened long enough to be sure the consensus was shifting toward Chetty then sought out a quieter corner.
Captain Kim reported destroying five small bots attempting to infiltrate.
The black square rested with its corners on four crates. A young boffin held the power cable for it with a nervous expression. Pete and his two die-hards were reduced to arguing that the cables shouldn’t be switched until the squirrel arrived.
Sergeant Boma led a private into the bunker. “Mission complete, ma’am!” The private gripped a squirrel firmly by the tail. The outraged rodent had gouged the paint on the armored glove and forearm. Now he seemed to focus on pulling his own tail out by the root.
“Thank
you,” said Mitchie. “Deliver it to Lieutenant Meena.”
“Hold it until I’m ready, please,” said Chetty.
The two infantrymen watched as Pete was given two minutes to save his mitochondrial DNA analysis. Then cables were switched from the data block to the black square. More cables were added to match all the connectors.
“Weigh it first,” said Pete.
A boffin wrapped his datasheet around the squirrel to collect its specifics. The animal tried to rip it.
“Everybody ready? Good. Power on,” ordered Chetty.
The young boffin plugged in the power line. The square didn’t react in any way. The researchers all stepped back anyway.
Chetty said, “Soldiers, this object is extremely dangerous. Do not touch it under any circumstances. Now, bring me the squirrel.”
To reach him the private had to hold his arm over a corner of the square. Chetty took the bit of tail sticking out of the private’s fist. As soon as the private let go Chetty flicked the animal toward the center of the square. It didn’t even get to bite him.
The squirrel reached the top of the square as a solid. It passed through without slowing. It came out the bottom as a liquid. A splash sounded as the fluids hit the floor.
The private peeked under the square, then glared at Chetty. “You killed it! That poor little critter. Do you realize what it took to keep it alive?”
“McGivers!” snapped Sergeant Boma. “Throw some dirt on that puddle. I don’t want it spreading.”
The private stomped out of the bunker. Boma, shaking his head, followed.
“The data flow’s stopped,” reported Pete. “It was a spike as the thing went through.”
Chetty ordered the square unplugged.
Guo detached himself from the researchers to join Mitchie. “That poor kid. Sounds like doing in the squirrel was worse than combat for him.”
“I can’t blame him,” she said. “It’s worse for me than some of the people I’ve killed. It didn’t do anything to deserve it.”
“Which people?” he asked.
“It’s not worse than the ones who were trying to kill me or on combat missions. They had it coming. The people who just got in my way . . . that’s worse than the squirrel.”
Guo hugged her. “Good. If we water and fertilize that it might grow into a real conscience.”
She snuck a quick kiss then pushed his arm off. “No commingling during the mission.”
Her handcomm broke in. Captain Kim reported probes from the east. Three casualties had been treated and returned to duty.
“How long can you handle it?” Mitchie asked.
“Ma’am, at this strength we can hold on for a week.”
“Good. Carry on.”
A burst of noise from the researchers proved no one had been paying attention to the couple. “This proves it!” shouted Chetty.
Pete retorted, “The element proportions don’t match.”
“Yes, because humans have bigger brains and bones than squirrels. Look at the total data volumes.” Chetty’s datasheet projected a holo of the hundred nearest blocks. “Here’s the partitions between data units. Most are two blocks and a bit. Some are smaller, and the small ones are randomly distributed in size between zero and two blocks.”
He pointed through the crowd at Mitchie. “At the mass to data ratio of the squirrel, Commander Long would be one and a quarter blocks. The rest of us are closer to two blocks.” Chetty turned back to his datasheet. Two bar charts appeared. “Here we see the age distribution of Photakis. Twenty-three children, infants to teens, and a hundred and eight adults. Now the size ratio of the data units. You see they match.”
“There’s twice as many data units as villagers,” said Pete.
“Farmers. Tourists. Campers from the woods. You’re nitpicking,” snapped Chetty.
The other researchers began arguing.
“Hold it!” ordered Mitchie, silencing them. “Lieutenant Meena. You’re claiming the population of Demeter was all converted to data?”
“Yes, ma’am. The samples fit. The extent of the bunkers fit. They’re all here.”
“Can we convert them back?”
Chetty looked helplessly at Pete.
“We certainly have detailed enough data to restore them,” said Pete. “The facilities to actually manufacture new bodies don’t exist.”
“Nanoforges,” said one researcher.
“Too slow,” said another. “Tissue would die before you finish an organ.”
“Make it in slices and assemble them.”
A third broke in, “Let’s slice you up and assemble them.”
“Enough!” Mitchie halted the bickering. “It’s theoretically possible. And they’ll keep until we do have the tools to restore them, right?” Many nods. “Focus on our mission. Why is the AI doing this? What purpose is served by protecting them?”
Pete offered the first theory. “They’re not a means. They’re the end. Doing this is the AI’s reason for being. At a guess, someone told it to save lives. Now he’s in the very first of these blocks.” The expressions facing him ranged from astonishment to horror. “Anyone have another explanation?”
“No, it makes sense,” said Chetty. “Swakop must be covered with these bunkers too. Both planets’ populations intact as data.”
“Except for the bunkers we blew up,” said Guo. “How many is that?”
“I don’t know,” answered Chetty. “Dozens. Scores. Bunker fights are exactly the intense combat where tactical commanders call for orbital support.” A researcher gasped. “Dammit, we didn’t know! And we weren’t trying to destroy them. They were just in our way.”
Mitchie turned on her heel and started walking. In the bunker’s entrance tunnel she broke into a trot. Demeter’s lighter gravity let her hit a good pace.
“Ma’am! Anything wrong?” called Sergeant Boma.
Mitchie remembered an Academy hall monitor’s comment when she was late to class. “Officers shouldn’t run. It alarms the men.”
She jogged backwards a few steps. “Just need to send a status report, Sergeant. And this is the only chance I’ll have for PT all day.”
Boma chuckled and waved two of his men to join her.
By the time they caught up they were panting hard through their open faceplates. Longer legs and better conditioning didn’t make up for their thirty kilos of armor, multigun, and ammo, even before they sprinted to her.
Mitchie didn’t slow for them.
A brilliant flash behind her turned Joshua Chamberlain white, leaving a purple afterimage. Her handcomm chirped.
“Kim to Long. Just got hit in mass. Called in a destroyer. I’m going to have to take back that week, ma’am.”
“Should be just a few hours more. Long out.”
The soldiers were breathing better than her by the time they reached the ship. “You wait here,” she said.
The crane’s personnel cage took her up to the cargo hold in comfort. She decided to skip the ladder. The crane took her to the main deck hatch. By the time she reached the bridge her breathing was steady again.
Mthembu asked, “What’s going on, Skipper?”
“Later.” She waved him out of the communications console seat. Mitchie sat down and looked over the frequencies card clipped to the console. She set the radio to the “EMERGENCY GUARD” channel.
Mitchie took a deep breath before lifting the microphone. “All ships, all ships. Cease fire. Friendly casualties. All ships, cease fire. Friendly casualties.”
The speaker buzzed with ships acknowledging the cease fire and repeating it for anyone who missed the initial transmission. Mitchie leaned back.
The first violation of proper comm procedure came in less than a minute. “Who the fuck ordered a cease fire! I have troops in contact!”
“We have friendly casualties,” she answered.
The speaker interrupted, “Bullshit! This is General Ralston! I just ran my full chain and no units report friendly fire.”
&n
bsp; “Civilian casualties. The heavy bunkers—”
Her signal was overridden again. “There are no civilians down here, you stupid—” The general shot off a string of obscenities.
It didn’t end with a question so Mitchie didn’t bother answering.
General Ralston shifted his wrath to the assault squadron commanders. They refused to resume attacks on the planet without orders from their own chain of command. The inevitable escalation took less than ten minutes.
“This is Admiral Galen. All units clear this channel. Station making friendly fire call, sound off.”
Mitchie picked up the mike again. “Commander Long, Joshua Chamberlain.”
The admiral took a few seconds to respond. “Who are these casualties, Long?”
“The AI didn’t wipe out the population of Demeter. It converted them into data. The heavy bunkers hold people. We can restore them, someday. But not if we destroy them. Every bombed bunker is hundreds or thousands of civilians dead.”
“Can you prove this?” asked the admiral.
“Yessir. My team has all the details.” She thought about how to explain the AI’s goal. Then decided to by-pass the admiral. “Artificial intelligence. If you cease resistance we are willing to keep the data bunkers safe and maintain them permanently.”
The answering voice was androgynous and toneless. “Agreement is acceptable. Person Michigan Long does not have authority to bind humans to agreement.”
“This is Admiral Galen, supreme commander of allied forces. I have the authority. If you stop attacking us, we will conduct security and maintenance of the bunkers.”
The AI responded with a series of questions and demands. Galen ordered the channel cleared for his exclusive use and asked for clarifications of terms.
Mitchie’s handcomm chirped.
“Ma’am, this is Captain Kim. A wave of bots was coming at us. They just froze in place. Not reacting to our movements or fire at all. It might be planning some kind of trick.”
Torchship Pilot Page 34