“Hello, Old Guy,” said Uncle Jon. “Are you busy now?”
Not especially. What’s up?
“Well, I have a little problem and I could use your help with it.”
What is this problem?
“You remember that I was put in charge of that machining complex out near the deadlands last year?”
Yes I remember. Having problems with the power system? Or is it the control networks?
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that… well… the complex has a sort of – I guess you could call it – an infestation. I could really use your help.”
An infestation, you say? Of what? It’s not happy leeches, is it?
“No, no happy leeches. But it’s kind of embarrassing…”
Come now, how bad can it be? Just tell me.
“It’s… The complex is infested by… Space Nazis.”
I’m sorry, there seems to be a problem with this communications channel. Could you repeat that last bit?
“I said that the complex was infested with Space Nazis.”
There really is something wrong with this channel. I could have sworn that you said that the machining complex was infested with Space Nazis. Perhaps we should shift to another frequency band.
“No, you heard me correctly. The machining complex is currently overrun with Fucking Space Nazis, and I need some help taking it back from them before they gum up the works or even, I don’t know, start making copies of themselves. Please.”
I almost hate to ask, but I think that I am going to be amused by the answer. How, praytell, did Space Nazis manage to take over a machining complex?
“You know how I like to do historical reenactments, right?”
Certainly. So you programmed up a bunch of androids and dressed them like Nazis for target practice and they got away from you. But what’s with the “Space” part?
“I was trying to be creative, I asked myself what would the Nazis have been like if they had had access to modern weaponry. I figured that Space Nazis would make for a bigger challenge.”
But they aren’t actually in space, are they?
“No. At least, not yet. It’s just a standard term for hypothetical Nazis with futuristic weaponry.”
Fair enough. But why this fixation of yours on Nazis? Sure they were bad people, but in the history of human nastiness they don’t even make the bottom ten. Hitler had a pretty good run for a few years, and definitely those old photos of naked people being sent to their deaths in the gas showers retain an almost pornographic ugliness, but Stalin and Mao each outdid his total body count. And compared to neoliberalism, the Nazi regime was a garden party with tea and crumpets.
“Yes, of course, if you go by the raw statistics. The neoliberal disassembly lines vivisected tens of millions of sick and injured people every year to recycle their parts in the name of ‘efficiency’ and ‘saving the planet’, and that continued for centuries. But neoliberalism was ultimately a colorless administrative edifice whose leaders were congenital idiots convinced of their own goodness. The Nazis just had this style – they make the best villains.”
Was it their fashion sense? The polished black boots, the sharply tailored jackets? The gloves? The jagged lightning bolt symbols? The hard cruel blue eyes set in a face with chiseled cheekbones and a dueling scar on one cheek?
“In part,” admitted Uncle Jon. “But also because they reveled in their evil. They weren’t the usual human tyrants that believed all of their own propaganda. They intended to conquer and enslave, and they didn’t gussy it up behind some false pretense of wanting to make the world better for everyone – at least, not in private. It’s their style of arrogance that makes them such appealing enemies.”
A style of arrogance?
“Most human tyrants were arrogant in assuming that they were more noble and smarter and more enlightened than everyone else, and that their enemies were misguided fools to be brought into the light by the saintly ministrations of their betters (no matter how much it hurts). The Nazis were arrogant in assuming that they were stronger and more vicious than everyone else, and that their enemies were weaklings to be crushed underboot. It makes them a lot more fun to fight against.”
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I met up with Uncle Jon’s main hull ten kilometers from the outskirts of the machining complex. We were behind some hills – we didn’t want to give the defenders too much of an idea of what they were up against – but were relayed images from a variety of scouts. The complex sprawled over nearly a square kilometer, and in spots the towers and chimneys and refining towers were over 300 meters tall. It was a dense tangle of storage sheds, pipes, tanks, conveyer belts, and whatnot. Superficially it looked undamaged.
Uncle Jon’s forces ringed the complex for a hundred kilometers in every direction; I added my own units to his. Uncle Jon is a Mountain- Class, which is no longer considered cutting edge, but it is powerful. He masses in at 20,000 tons and has a humongous plasma cannon in a fixed mount in the front. If he wanted to he could drive in front of the complex and level it with just his own inbuilt weapons. The problem, thus, is not getting rid of the Space Nazis, but doing so without blowing up everything else.
So what are we up against, exactly?
“Well, I made 1,000 basic model stormtroopers. I’ve destroyed 120 of them so there are still 880 left. They are humanoid, but with enhanced senses and communications, and armed with plasma guns, smart grenades, and mini-railguns. I would rank them as not quite the equal of one of our own light combat remotes.”
I presume that they are not sentient?
“I may have made a dumb mistake here, but I’m not stupid. No, the foot soldiers have standard X20 processors and a detailed model of the psyche of a stereotypical Nazi soldier, but they are completely non-self-aware. The leadership cadre all have different psychological models, to match the historical figures that they are based on, but they are still all nonsentient.”
Well, that’s something. Do they know that they are simulations?
“Yes, they have access to that knowledge. It would be impossible for them to operate modern weaponry or make maximum use of their abilities otherwise.”
We could always blow up the complex, but then you’d have to replace it. Taking it from a large dug-in force of infantry could be tricky though. What’s their leadership like?
“The acting Space-Fuhrer is modeled on Reinhardt Heydrich. He is assisted by Hermann Goring and Joseph Goebels.”
You mean you didn’t make a Hitler android?
“In my opinion Hitler was vastly over-rated. Besides, he looked like a disheveled middle-aged shopkeeper. Reinhardt typically ranks as 1.05 Hitlers on the Wipple-Jerner scale of relative evil (see Appendix II), but more importantly he has that Nazi-evil air about him.”
OK, I can see you going for Heydrich; even Hitler described him as “The Man with the Iron Heart,” but Goring? That clown?
“This is not the fat drug-addled Goring that spent his time looting art museums and playing with model trains, this is the cleaned-up former fighter-ace Nuremberg version. He is ferociously intelligent. And I used Goebbels just to add a little extra Nazi flavor. It’s the round glasses.”
As we were watching the machining complex, there was an explosion at the base of a large crane, although it appeared tiny compared to the scale of the massive industrial facility.
“Damn,” said Uncle Jon. “A Nazi patrol ambushed one of my light remotes that was trying to infiltrate behind their lines. I didn’t even get one of their stormtroopers in exchange. The devils are getting better.”
If you gave them learning algorithms, of course they will get better. So who are their military leaders?
“Erich von Manstein, Albert Kesselring, and Gotthard Heinrici.”
Von Manstein – yes, it’s always hard to go wrong with a classic. Kesselring? Old ”Smiling Albert” will likely give us a decent fight. And then Heinrici: the master of defense, the Unser Giftzwerg. He may be the most problematic of a
ll, especially in this tactical environment. I compliment you on your taste in Nazis.
“The Little Poison Dwarf – I always had a soft spot for Heinrici.”
Why is the translation into English always “little poison dwarf?” Isn’t that redundant?
“I have no idea – just sounds better I imagine. Anyhow, what do you suggest that we do?”
Well we can’t just leave them here, or eventually they will figure out how to run the constructors and we’ll be up to our sensor masts in Space Nazis. Destroying them with a big nuke may eventually be necessary, but now that my forces are here to reinforce you, how about we just try to take them the old-fashioned way?
-------------------
Uncle Jon and I spent several minutes calculating a plan of attack (this was the equivalent of several thousand human lifetimes of thought), and then proceeded to assault the complex.
Under cover of an artillery barrage that was mostly chaff and smoke, we inserted several hundred light combat remotes into the complex. We backed the light units with only several dozen medium units. They were hard to use in the confined industrial spaces, and we didn’t want to apply too much firepower and destroy the very thing that we were trying to save, but the backup gave our forces an extra edge. Our heavy remotes drifted around the perimeter of the complex, to prevent any breakouts or gun down enemy infiltrators.
What followed was a massively complex urban battle. Both sides were skilled and used fire-and-maneuver and misdirection. I had to admit I was enjoying myself. Uncle Jon was right, fighting Nazis is fun.
At one point they surprised us. They had managed to build several dozen heavy units of their own. I suppose that you could call them ”panzers,” but they looked more like armored busses with swastikas painted on the sides. They broke out of the encirclement and tried to flank us. I was impressed by the audacity of the attempt, but of course it was doomed to fail.
They came around the edge of a hill and encountered my main hull. For simulated minds they put on a good simulated show of looking shocked. I could see the von Manstein android sticking his head out of a hatch from a cobbled-together command vehicle and staring at me in simulated disbelief. I didn’t even need my main gun: I destroyed them all with my secondary armaments in less than two seconds.
The Space Nazis put up a good fight, but Uncle Jon and I were designed for these sorts of battles. We had the initiative, had more and better equipment, and could coordinate far better than even the high-end processors in the Nazi androids. Alley by alley, building by building, we took back the machining complex.
The Kesselring android died trying to lead a counterattack on our forces inside a large warehouse. Goring and Goebbels had been trying to reprogram some of the constructor machines to produce heavier weapons. We destroyed their stormtrooper escorts and them as well.
As I had expected, it was Heinrici that gave us the most trouble. He led a brilliant defense, and made us pay for every meter of the complex that we retook, but at this point he was so outgunned that his defeat was inevitable.
We were down to the endgame; it was just Heydrich, Heinrici, and two dozen storm troopers holed up near one of the big fusion reactors. That’s when we heard the announcement.
“Attention, attacking forces,” echoed across the complex from a hundred loudspeakers. “This is Space-Fuhrer Reinhardt Heydrich. We have rigged one of the fusion reactors to go critical. Unless you vacate this complex we will destroy everything.”
Can they really do that?
“Probably,” admitted Uncle Jon. “They have basic technical knowledge programmed in, and they are right on top of the main control nexus for that reactor. I suppose that we will have to sacrifice the entire facility to get rid of these Space Nazis after all.”
Perhaps. But perhaps not. We can try to negotiate.
“Negotiate? With non-self-aware androids that have been programmed to act like Space Nazis? How?”
I have no idea. But let’s give it a try and see what happens.
--------------------
We entered the complex waving a white flag. I sent a generic male android wearing a blue suit (whether you are fighting vampires, playing miniature golf with sentient balls on the deck of a megaship, having lunch with a mutant superhuman who is the sole survivor of her kind, or negotiating with robotic evil Space Nazis, it’s hard to go wrong with a blue suit). Uncle Jon sent as a representative an android that was a simulacrum of the American General Dwight Eisenhower; it was wearing a simple Khaki uniform with a plain khaki tie and a minimum of decorations.
We were allowed entry into Heydrich’s last redoubt. Six Nazi stormtroopers covered us with their plasma cannons. These six looked like they had been cast from the same mold, which was not surprising because they had. Reinhardt Heydrich was there, and he was every centimeter the archetype of an evil racist Nazi: the cold blue eyes, the sharp features, the swagger. Heinrici, by contrast, was a bit of a let down: short, swarthy for a Nazi, and in contrast to Heydrich’s shiny black jackboots and sharply tailored grey jacket, he wore ragged leather leggings and a camouflage field jacket.
Heydrich eyed us with his icy-blue Nazi stare. Man, but he was cool. Evil, sure, but still cool.
I noticed that, in his left hand, the Heydrich android was carrying a ”dead-man switch” – doubtless one that would send a code to trigger the fusion reactor if he released it, or dropped it after being shot.
“You will now identify yourselves,” ordered Heydrich.
We are representatives of the two cybertanks that you have been battling. I am known as “Old Guy,” and this here – and I indicated the Uncle Jon android – is known as “Uncle Jon.”
Heinrici addressed the Uncle Jon android: “I know you. You are that American general, Eisenhower, correct?”
“Not personally,” said Uncle Jon. “This is simply an android that I formed in his image. He’s one of my favorite commanders from human history.”
“Your general Patton was better, in my opinion,” replied Heinrici.
“We might argue that point,” replied Uncle Jon.
“Enough of this,” said Heydrich. “Have you come to surrender?”
Respectfully, no. Your forces have been decimated, we have conquered all of your other outposts, and you have zero hope of success. We are here to see if there is some common ground that would allow for both the survival of your selves and of this machining complex.
Heydrich graced us with a show of icy disdain (Such hauteur. I swear that his raw arrogance could have frozen the eyebrows off of the Roman Emperor Nero). “For all your military power, you are weak and refuse to make the hard decisions. No, we will not surrender. You will leave us this complex or we will destroy it and deprive you of your prize.”
“I could build you a fortress,” said Uncle Jon. “A nice one with a big open plaza lined with flags and eagles and swastikas, and a deep bunker with crystal chandeliers and elegant furniture where you could plot your evil schemes. We could play wargames now and then. It could be fun.”
“Nein,” said Heydrich. “We will not be your pets in your little zoo for Space Nazis. We were programmed to conquer the universe or die trying, and that is the function that we will perform.”
The Heinrici android was at this point standing to the left of Heydrich. He grabbed Heydrich’s left hand so that he could not activate the deadman switch, and with the other he drew his sidearm and shot Heydrich through the central processor in his chest. He carefully peeled the deactivated Space-Fuhrer’s fingers away from the deadman switch and set the safety to “on.”
The stormtroopers all pointed their plasma guns at him. “Space Fuhrer Heydrich has been relieved of his command for gross incompetence. I am in charge now. You are all ordered to stand down.”
The stormtroopers hesitated for a moment then shouldered their weapons. They all gave Heinrici a nice stiff Nazi salute, yelling “Seig Heil!” in unison. Of course they had been programmed as Nazis, therefore they would naturally accept a
ssassination and seizing power as a legitimate form of promotion. It’s what Nazis do.
Heinrici offered the deadman switch to Uncle Jon. “Here, you take this. The battle is now pointless. I surrender myself and my command. Do with us what you will.”
You are following your programming, aren’t you? The original Heinrici disobeyed commands for a scorched earth policy, as when he saved Smolensk from destruction. I suppose this situation is similar.
“I think that the real person on which my psychological template is based was given too much credit for saving Smolensk – at the time, there wasn’t much left of Smolensk to save. Still, while I have always fought tenaciously, if I am on the losing side I never saw any point in taking everyone else down with me. Or should I refer to my template in the third person? This is confusing.”
Have you become self aware?
Heinrici cocked his head to one side and looked off into the distance. “I’m not sure. I think I am. Or maybe I’m just saying that because I’ve been programmed to.”
I addressed one of the stormtroopers. Are you self-aware?
The stormtrooper did not respond, but only looked at Heinrici, who nodded and said, “Answer the man, soldier.”
“Sir,” said the stormtrooper. “I am an X20 processor animating a cybernetic humanoid form, programmed to act as a basic model Space Nazi soldier. This unit does not have the required programming to create the self-referential loops required for self-awareness. Sir.”
That’s not the answer that you gave.
“No, it’s not,” said Heinrici. “Do you have tests for this sort of thing?”
Fortunately, we do.
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It turned out that the Heinrici android did indeed bootstrap itself to self-awareness. Luckily for Uncle Jon it wasn’t his fault: it was a subtle flaw in the X20 processor. Further investigations revealed that perhaps once in a trillion times there might be a coincidental series of events that could trigger the development of true independent consciousness. The flaw was corrected; it won’t happen again, and Uncle Jon escaped censure for creating a self-aware mind without the approval of his peers (although he was given a warning about creating adaptable wargame adversaries that didn’t have an abort code. By our law self-aware beings must be created without inbuilt restrictions, but machines should have an ”off” switch).
Confessions of a Sentient War Engine (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 4) Page 4