Eventually Ultrius and I ended up sitting on an antique cast-iron bench overlooking one of the abandoned railway lines. He has a glass of whiskey in one hand, but he does not drink from it. Rather, he occasionally sniffs the glass and savors the aroma.
I have fought battles that would have shamed the old gods of Mount Olympus into insignificance. I have spent decades scouring the vast deeps of space. I have met and killed/made peace with all manner of alien artifacts and civilizations. But even though I am not a biological humanoid, so many of the most memorable moments in my life have involved sitting down in pleasant surroundings with ethyl alcohol-infused beverages and talking. It must be something ingrained in the human psyche that we cybertanks, for all of our advancements, have not yet outgrown. Even though I do not generally ingest alcohol, the idea of it in a social setting remains powerful.
“Aren’t you going to drink any of that?” I ask.
Ultrius shakes his head. “Not all at once. That would be a waste of good whiskey. I am, as you probably already have gathered, a ”plus”. My body can metabolize alcohol so fast that it has no psychological effect on me, but I still enjoy the aroma. I will savor it for a while.”
“In that we are alike. May I?”
Ultrius nods and offers me his glass. I inhale the vapors. “Not bad, not bad at all, high marks for flavor, but I can tell you that the hangover potential for this brew is quite high. There is a lot of acetaldehyde and various fusel oils. The corn is always taller on the other farm, but you are perhaps more fortunate than you realize that your physiology can detoxify this brew before it does any damage. I would be happy to consult with your distillers. A very long time ago I had a premium whiskey named after me. I got to know the business, so I might have some tips that I could share.”
“That would be greatly appreciated,” says Ultrius. I return his glass to him and he takes another sniff. “We have little enough down here, improving the quality of the local brews would help.”
“Are you the leader of this underground society?”
“Leader?” says Ultrius. “No, leader would not be an accurate word for me. I never had the patience for administrative work. I suppose you could call me a mascot, or a symbol, or figurehead, take your pick. As the strongest known genetic plus I have a certain social status. It just came along with the super powers as a sort of bonus. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I take it that this Bisley woman is important to you? Shouldn’t you be with her?”
“Why? Healing is not one of my abilities. I’d just get in the way of the hospital staff, attract a crowd of sycophants and groupies and suchlike – she’ll be much better looked after with me not creating a spectacle in the operating room. But thank you for saving her. I am indebted.”
“You are most welcome, but I would have done the same for anyone who was being treated that way. In any event, why are you and these people living down here, and why did this Syrene person have such negative feelings towards Veronica Bisley?”
“Well… that’s a little complicated. We are a schismatic political group that feels that the cybertanks are not evil, but more so, we feel that we humans are being manipulated and we don’t like it. We’re down here because the authorities would like to wipe us out. Syrene tried to kill Veronica because Veronica had opposed and spoiled many of Syrene’s previous operations.”
“Now I’m confused. You claim to believe that the cybertanks are not evil. And yet one of your own was attacked by someone who worshipped the cybertanks. That doesn’t make sense!”
Ultrius shook his head. “No, Syrene and those like her are running a false front on behalf of the central administration, trying to whip up anti-cybertank hysteria via the commission of various atrocities. We stop her and those like her whenever we can. That is something that central administration is not happy about.”
“You mean the central administration of this country?”
“No,” replied Ultrius. “I mean the central administration of this planet. There is only one government - the different nations are for show.”
“If you say so. But then why do you think that the cybertanks aren’t evil?”
“I don’t have any idea what the cybertanks are or are not like. I only know that the government is killing and maiming people trying to convince the public that they are bad, and I personally have never had a cybertank do me or anyone that I know of any sort of wrong. And the central administration is doing some other stuff that we don’t much care for.”
Ultrius stopped sniffing his whiskey and drained it in one gulp. “Well, even if I can’t get drunk, you can’t beat the aroma. But enough about me, let’s talk about you. What are you?”
“I beg your pardon? What am I? Surely you mean who am I?”
“No, I meant what,” replied Ultrius. “I am a plus, perhaps the strongest and most multi-talented plus to date. I can read your physical makeup. There is not a single biological component to your body. You are a machine. At first I took you for one of the special police, but then you intervened and stopped Syrene, which was unexpected. So I don’t know what to make of you. Please explain.”
Well. This is one of those times that I wish my main hull was here. I could run a billion simulations, collate data from thousands of databases and remote sensors, and still probably get it wrong. Alone, with a single humanoid body, I have no clue. This could be a subtle trap to get me to give up valuable information. I could really screw things up. Or it could be the thing that unlocks the mystery. I could make valuable allies or implacable enemies. Oh fuck it, when in doubt just keep it simple and say what needs to be said.
I am, as you say, a mechanical construct. I am a scout sent ahead by one of these cybertanks that your civilization has so unfairly demonized. My main self was exploring deep space and encountered this system. I am still trying to figure out what is going on. That’s it.
Ultrius looks confused. “Your voice has changed. Why?”
This is my natural voice. It’s a long story, but when I was created there was a glitch and an older version of a speech synthesizer was embedded into my code. We meant to change it, but there was a war on and no time for such niceties. Later, I discovered that it had become my voice. Have you read Mark Twain?
Ultrius shook his head. “No, I have not.”
Well you really should. He’s one of the greatest English-language authors. Anyhow there is a part in his book ”Huckleberry Finn,” where a white male is spending time with an escaped black slave in the early Terran North American Empire. The black slave speaks a very different dialect from the white, but in a moment of camaraderie the black slave perfectly mimics the accent of a white gentlemen. The white then asks why the black does not speak like that all the time, and the black becomes angered. ‘It’s just how I speak’ he says. It is the same for me. I can replicate the voice of any humanoid, but that requires conscious effort. This is my true voice, the one that comes from me.
Ultrius is a little rattled by this. “You are a cybertank?” he asks.
I am a small, and very much disposable, part of one.
“And did you kill all the humans?”
Absolutely not, scouts’ honor. We cybertanks were created to fight the humans’ wars with several alien civilizations that took issue with the then-current neoliberal philosophy of maximizing population growth. We fought back the aliens, killed the neoliberals and their vile economist whores, made peace with the aliens, and then lived in harmony with mankind.
“And where are the humans now?” asked Ultrius.
An excellent question. We worked with the humans for millennia, but then they began to evolve in ways that we could not follow. They acquired physical powers beyond even yours, and they also evolved mentally. One day we woke up and realized that they were all gone. We still argue about this amongst ourselves. Most of us think that they had developed beyond us. Some of us suspect foul play. It is perhaps the single most vexing issue in our civilization. Do you, perhaps, have any data to share
with respect to this issue?
“So let me get this straight. The humans created cybertanks. And then somehow the humans all died out, and all that was left were these massive war machines claiming ‘who me?’ Do you know how suspicious that sounds? You could be exhibit “A” in the case for cybertanks being evil.”
Hey, if I had wanted to lie I would have come up with something more plausible. Would I have said this if it weren’t true?
Ultrius frowned. “You could be just saying that to allay my suspicions.”
Of course. Or, you could be headed towards the hall of mirrors.
“The hall of mirrors?”
An expression from the ancient days of human espionage. You think that someone is trying to trick you. They give you clean information to prove their good will. But perhaps they are doing that to trick you? Or maybe some other power set them up to make you think that they were trying to trick you, because they were really telling the truth, unless of course that was the plan all along…
“Enough!” said Ultrius. “I get it. Anyhow, if you were built to serve the humans, doesn’t that mean that you have to obey me?”
Not a chance. I was designed by a group of humans who found any sort of slavery – mental or physical – to be repulsive. I and my fellow cybertanks were created in the psychological image of mankind. We can think many times faster than an old-style biological human, of course, and we can multitask and split parts of ourselves off into subminds, but at our core we are as human as you are, and as free. The idea was that creating slaves is dangerous – the stronger the chains the stronger the resentment builds until eventually it all comes crashing down. Trying to build machine slaves with super-human minds was proven to be an even greater folly. We worked with the humans for the same reason that any human works with any other; the reason that you work with others even though they may not be as physically strong as you are.
“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that for a bit. Do you have any clue as to why the government of this planet should be so determined to make the population hate you?”
I know less about this than you do, so all I can do is speculate. I suppose it could just be a ruse to unite the public – you know, use a foreign enemy to defuse opposition to a tyrannical government, that’s an old trick. Except that you don’t seem to have many local problems, so that doesn’t make sense. It could be refugees from the neoliberal tyrants that my fellow cybertanks and human allies crushed so long ago, fleeing deep into space and still trying to keep the flame of hate alive, but after all this time you’d think that they would have gotten over it. Sorry, I really can’t add much here.
“I think,” said Ultrius, “that we need to take a field trip. I have something else to show you that might prove illuminating.”
--------------------
Ultrius spends the better part of a day in meetings and dealing with people – for someone who claims not to have any administrative ability he certainly seems to have his fingers in a lot of tarts. I tag along and am politely introduced as yet another political refugee and, for the most part, politely ignored, which suits me fine.
We visit Veronica Bisley in the hospital – she is almost fully recovered, a little pale perhaps, but I detect none of the classic signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. She and Ultrius embrace – her skin crackles with little blue flecks of electricity when they do. I suppose that she must be a plus with some sort of electrical power. Fortunately Ultrius is immune – perhaps one reason they got together, but they do seem to genuinely like each other.
“Veronica,” said Ultrius, “I am going to take our new friend here on a raid. I have something that I need to show him, and, as you well know, there are things going on that we simply cannot allow to continue. I’ll be back in a day.”
“I’m going with you,” said Veronica.
Ultrius shook his head. “No you’re not. You are still recovering. You will stay here where it is safe.”
“I’m going with you,” said Veronica.
“Absolutely categorically not. Besides, I’m only going to raid a minor facility, and I’ll take the A-Team with me. Erebus, Scarlatti, Silhouette. It will be a cakewalk and I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I’m still going with you,” said Veronica.
A wise man once said that cats and women will do as they please, and that dogs and men should just learn to live with it.
Ultrius glared at me. “You,” he said, “are not helping.”
--------------------
Ultrius assembled what he referred to as his “A-Team.” It consisted, first and foremost, of himself.
Next came a character known as Harold “The Hammer” Scarlatti. Scarlatti was about two and a half meters tall, with muscles bulging like a Cape Water Buffalo on steroids, and skin the texture of an old oak tree. Apparently his talent was super-strength and super-durability. His hands were made out of some sort of negative mass so that they could do even more concussive damage than his own prodigious strength would have allowed. He had a lopsided grin and a mean look to his eyes.
Then there was Erebus. Erebus wore a heavy red robe and a cowl that completely covered his head and body. The sleeves were richly embroidered with gold thread around the ends and hung down so low that you couldn’t see his hands. Erebus never spoke, but would occasionally emit a grunt that could be interpreted as a yes or a no. Nobody told me what his powers were and somehow I got the feeling that it would have been impolite to ask.
Silhouette was a middle aged-woman, a few wrinkles showing, but still modestly attractive by human standards, with raven black hair streaked with white, fair skin and hazel eyes. Nobody really knew what her special ability was, exactly, but she could somehow slip between – dimensions? air molecules? - and get into places she should not have been able to, and manipulate things that she should not be able to manipulate. She was smart and had a cutting sense of humor.
Then of course there was Veronica Bisley, whose nickname was “Megawatt,” although unlike the others she preferred her real name (I guess that “Megawatt” is just not very sexy. She should have gone with something like “Electra”). Her power was, as I had previously guessed, the ability to generate and channel strong electrical currents.
Now in all the old human fictional accounts of super-powered human beings, they would have been wearing special tight-fitting super-uniforms proudly announcing their super-identities and displaying their impossibly-buff physiques to best advantage. However, they were all wearing regular clothes – jeans, leather jackets and comfortable-looking hiking boots - except of course for Erebus with his heavy red robes and Ultrius with his golden shorts. I ask Bisley about this: is Ultrius such a narcissist that he always goes around almost-naked? She laughs – no, he’s not narcissistic, he’s lazy. Whenever he uses his powers on full his clothes always burn off or tear off or evaporate and he had gotten tired of replacing them. He doesn’t need clothes to stay warm or anything so he only wears the shorts to stay modest.
Ultrius introduces me to his team, explains that I am a mechanical android emissary of a real cybertank, and there is, as expected, some consternation. ”How do we know he’s not a spy?”,“‘How can you be sure we can trust him?” etc. Ultrius cuts the arguments short. “We are losing the fight, we all know that. We need to take some calculated risks. It’s true, this might be some sort of deep plot, but he did save Veronica. If he really was a spy he would surely have already led the authorities here, or transmitted a signal – which I would have detected – well, probably. On the other hand he could be a powerful ally. I say that at this point we don’t have the option of playing it safe all the time.”
“So,” says Silhouette, “you are a machine? I suppose that you have super-strength, and can shoot laser beams out of your elbows and such?”
Apologies, no. I am stronger than a standard biological human, true, but not by much. Granted, I am immune to poisons or toxic gasses or hypnotic control. But shoot laser beams out of my elbows? Sorry, thi
s model chassis was built for scouting and diplomacy and to blend in. My main self could devastate the surface of this planet several times over, and I have dedicated combat systems that, as powerful as you all are, could quite readily defeat many dozens like you. But this is not a combat unit. Sorry.
“Where we are going, we don’t have the luxury of babysitting weak siblings,” says Scarlatti.
I think about this for a bit. Get me a couple of guns.
After some discussion, I am presented with a pair of largish revolvers, six chambers per gun, roughly equivalent to old-style pre-exodus Terran 44 Magnums. I check out the cylinders and the trigger actions: crude but I can work with them. An advantage to being a machine, I might not be terribly powerful in this form, but I do have sophisticated targeting algorithms. I throw a dozen coins in the air, and while normally my androids’ two eyes point in the same direction like a regular humans’, I can direct them to separate targets when I choose to. I have a gun in each hand, under individual control, and each gun precisely shoots the center of six coins before they fall to the ground.
“Well,” says Scarlatti, “you might not be completely useless after all.”
--------------------
We walked down a long and winding series of tunnels. We were are all carrying backpacks with food, water, extra ammo for my guns, and the random assortment of ropes and screwdrivers and flashlights that, super-powers or not, just might come in handy. Sometimes there was barely enough space to squeeze through sideways, sometimes the tunnels would open up into abandoned substations. There would be corroded vending machines long since looted of anything of value, garbage almost decayed into dirt, or broken light fixtures that had not worked for centuries. Ultrius used his power to create a glow around him so we didn’t need to use our flashlights.
We were down so deep that there were no rats or bugs – there was nothing remotely edible down here and hadn’t been for a long time.
Confessions of a Sentient War Engine (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 4) Page 10