by Erik Hanberg
“I am the pope, my son.”
Shaw pursed his lips. Arguing with Clement was like arguing with Wulf—there was a ready-made answer for everything. They were speaking past each other. He took a moment to gather his breath and release it slowly, a useful trick he’d learned in the boxing ring.
“So what is it that you want exactly, Your Holiness?”
“Down to brass tacks, isn’t that’s how you say it in America? We have troops, we have missiles, we have drones and bot swarms. But we don’t have a strategist. So I think what I’m asking for is fairly clear. You lead us to victory. Once we have peace, we release you—”
“Release me? I’m a prisoner now?”
“Taveena Parr sent you to Earth without your ring and wrap, I understand. Lead us to victory and we will allow you to communicate with your wife again. Wouldn’t it be nice to—”
Shaw stood, like a rod of steel had forced him to straighten his posture and deliver his answer to the pope. “With all due respect, fuck no, Your Holiness. I took the deal from Wulf when I was his prisoner, I took the deal from Grace when I was hers. I’m tired of being someone’s puppet! No deal.”
“OK! OK! OK!” the pope said, scrambling to get his feet off his robe and stand next to Shaw. There was panic in his eyes and Shaw now saw how much of his earlier demeanor had been a bluff. “We’ll get you a wrap and a ring. You can talk to Ellie whenever you want to. We just need your help.”
Shaw studied him. “Fine. Here are the terms. They aren’t open to negotiation. You want me to work for you, then fine. But I’m in charge. I’m the general. You can either let me work the way I deem fit, or you can fire me. Nothing in between. You don’t get to direct me, you don’t get to restrict access to any tool I might want. You don’t get to argue. Can you live with that, Your Holiness?”
“Yes.”
Shaw plowed on. “To the best of my ability, I’m going to fight the cartel, not Northern Italy. I’m not trying to secure a homeland for Catholics or solve Disunification or anything like that. It’s the cartel that is threatening my family, not the Northerners, and that’s where my focus will stay. And when we win I’m walking away with my family, I’m not going to re-up for a second tour of duty so you can establish a Holy Roman Empire.”
The pope was now standing, his breathing heavy. “Yes,” he repeated. “I agree to your terms. Please accept my apologies that we tried—”
“The first thing I need is a wrap and a ring.”
The pope snapped his fingers and a guard went hurrying off. He smoothed his robe and touched the cross that hung around his neck. Once he had gathered himself, he smiled.
“What else can I provide you?”
“If we’re going to take out the cartel, I need to get caught up to speed on resources, deployment, and much more. And it’s got to be fast.”
“Of course. We have a council of war,” Clement said. “They’ll do better than I can. I’ll take you there now. Your wrap and ring will be delivered to us there.”
“Council of war?” Shaw asked.
Clement led Shaw out of the Sistine chapel and down a grand hallway filled with art and statues. Two Swiss guards stood outside an ornate door covered with gold-leaf flourishes. As the pope approached it, they opened the doors onto what appeared to be a dark room. Shaw followed the pope and let his eyes adjust.
The room was not entirely dark. Three holograms were spaced evenly around the round room—two men and a girl. The pope came to a stop in the middle of the room and Shaw stood behind him, studying the projected figures.
“Why is your council of war conferencing in as holograms? Why aren’t they here in the Vatican with you?” Shaw asked. He remembered walking along the banks of the Rhone in Geneva, Ellie’s avatar keeping pace. That had been a projection in his mind only, generated by his implant. He rarely saw anyone using actual holograms in this way.
“There is literally no other form these advisors could take,” Clement said.
Shaw looked over the figures again. The girl had a fiery look in her eye that was unnerving him. No other form they could take…
“Allow me to introduce Grand Master Byron Shaw,” Clement announced. “He will be leading our efforts against the Lattice cartel. You are to advise him on all military matters. He has my full confidence.”
The pope turned to Shaw. “Brother Byron, allow me to present your council of war. Saint Thomas Aquinas, Saint Ignatius Loyola, and—of course—Saint Joan of Arc. They are at your service.”
Chapter 5
“Saints?” Shaw echoed. He studied the figures in the room, and they studied him. But the girl, in particular, had bright eyes that seemed to be staring through him.
“Saints,” the pope answered proudly. “Ah, your new wrap and ring.”
A monk came in and presented the items to Shaw on a white pillow with gold piping and lace. Shaw finally looked away from the saints. He slipped the ring on his finger and let the wrap snake comfortably around his arm. Resisting the urge to immediately contact Ellie, Shaw caught the eye of the man who had made the delivery.
“Alberto, right?” Shaw recognized him as the young man from the tank.
“Yes, Grand Master.”
“You can just call me Byron. I’m not a monk or a Grand Master, whatever that is.”
The pope coughed. “Actually, my son, you are. I have promoted you to the rank of Grand Master of the Knights Templar. It is a blessed position.”
Shaw stared. “I reject it.”
The pope almost shrugged. “A pope’s blessings are not so easily thrown away. Besides, you were the one who wanted to be the general. Do you want to lead or do you want to lead?”
Shaw grimaced. Alberto made to leave, but Shaw stopped him with a look. “Stay here. I need an aide-de-camp. If he can promote me, I can promote you.” Before Alberto could reply, Shaw turned back to the saints.
“What are they?” he asked.
“It’s rude to ask that question when you’re standing right in front of them,” the pope replied.
Shaw was able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Instead he stepped forward and addressed the hologram to his left. “Who are you?” The man was mostly bald, with a ring of brown hair around his head, which suggested that his head had been shaved intentionally.
“I am Thomas Aquinas.” He bowed slightly and his holographic robes draped convincingly with the motion.
“So you don’t go by Saint Thomas Aquinas? How informal.”
“Would you introduce yourself as Grand Master Byron Shaw just because the pope bestowed the title?” Aquinas smiled. “I am honored by it, of course, but as a philosopher and a Christian, I know that calling oneself a saint is a road that should not be traveled. And you may call me what you wish.”
“You’re a philosopher?”
“I am no Aristotle, but yes, my Summa Theologiae and Summa contra Gentiles are generally considered to be philosophical texts.”
“And why does the war council need a philosopher?” Shaw asked.
“Ah, of course. The man of action doesn’t understand the need for a man of words and thought. If it helps make it clearer to you, I laid out the conditions under which a Christian may wage a ‘just war.’”
Shaw ignored the first half of the saint’s retort, but the second half intrigued him. “And have those conditions been met? Is this a just war we are fighting?”
“The conditions most assuredly have and this is a just war.”
“Do you know history? Well, my history and your future, I suppose I mean. Do you know of the war of Disunification that broke up Italy? A war launched by this pope’s predecessor?”
“I do. Thanks to the Lattice, I have the memories and exact brain structure of Thomas Aquinas as he existed eight hundred years ago. But I also know all history since then, how to use modern technology, new methods of warfare humanity has developed, and languages—obviously, since I’m speaking to you in English. I am what you call an AI—well, we are all the same AI,
” Aquinas said, meaning the other three saints in the room. “But for your ease of understanding, I won’t answer for Ignatius and vice versa.”
“And the war? Was Disunification a just war?”
“Pope Innocent the fourteenth believed so, but in that I would say he was quite mistaken,” Aquinas answered, his voice low. “With all due respect,” he added, inclining his head in the direction of the current pope.
“Did we pass?” another saint asked Shaw.
“Pass?” Shaw asked, turning to a saint on the other side of the room.
“Your test. You wanted to see if Aquinas—or perhaps the AI in general—would speak against the pope, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, he passed,” Shaw answered after a beat. “If you’re to advise me, I needed to know whether you serve the Church or serve the truth. Your name?”
“Ignatius Loyola.”
“And why were you sainted?”
“I founded the Society of Jesus—what you know as the Jesuits. But I’m here because I was also a soldier.”
“Then as a soldier, what is your diagnosis of the war against the cartel?”
“Doomed.”
Shaw was struck mute for a moment. “That is a bleak assessment,” he said.
“As you said, I serve the truth,” Ignatius said with a slight bow of his head. “The church’s research into a new means of destroying the Lattice stalled. The enemy has more troops and more resources. We have perhaps… five days before our resources expire. I fear you were sent to the losing side of this war.”
Shaw looked around the room again. “You are all in the same AI, and yet you have the memories and brain structure of specific individuals. Does that mean you can disagree with yourself?”
“A council of war would be of no use to you if we all agreed with each other,” Aquinas said. “How any one of us would interpret any particular piece of information differs—as it does with all humans. Though perhaps we are a step advanced from homo sapiens, since we do not dispute basic facts with each other.”
Shaw thought about what he’d just learned. “Just five days?”
“At the current rate of engagement with the enemy, yes.”
“Surely the Lattice cartel knows that too? Why wouldn’t they step up their assault and force an early victory? Especially since I’m here.”
“They have,” Ignatius answered. “Before you arrived, we had a stockpile of weapons that could last a month.”
“But even so, they have enough resources—”
“Yes, even so, why not just use overwhelming force and be done with it? The cartel is fighting not just for victory but for what you would call a public relations victory as well,” Aquinas replied. “It has stayed their hand more than a few times.”
“They care what the rest of the world thinks,” Shaw clarified. He remembered Grace in the boardroom. They didn’t want to lose customers.
“It’s their weakness,” the girl said.
Shaw turned to the fierce eyes and did his best to meet them directly.
“We take the war to them. We burn the enemy in their beds if we have to. We do the things they aren’t willing to do. That’s how we win,” she said.
“That’s not a very saintly thing to say.”
“I didn’t ask for sainthood and I didn’t ask to have my thoughts revived and to sit on this council of war. But that’s my opinion. If they don’t retaliate in kind, we win.”
“And if they do?”
“If they do retaliate in kind, they win the battle but their atrocities against us will spark even more to our side. It becomes a Pyrrhic victory.”
“Spoken like a true martyr,” Shaw answered.
He wasn’t sure it was possible, but the hologram stood a little straighter at that. “This war isn’t doomed,” she said. “We just have to have the courage to fight it the way it needs to be fought.”
Joan of Arc. Shaw rubbed his brow. How do you argue with Joan of Arc?
“We should move on to military matters,” Ignatius said. “The cartel just launched another attack—three bot swarms.”
“How does this work?” Shaw asked. “Do you handle it on your own like you did with the missile attack that attempted to disrupt the convoy I was on earlier? Do I give an order?”
“We act on our own when circumstances call for it and ask for direction when time allows. Forgive me, but if we waited for orders from a human before every action this war would already be over. You are simply too slow.”
“The fact that you are talking to me suggests there is time.”
“Some, but it’s not a question of time. There is a moral decision to be made.”
“I figured that was the realm of saints.”
“They are attacking you.”
“How long do we have?”
“Not we. You. The attack is very specific.”
Shaw snorted. It was almost a laugh. “How long?” he asked.
“Six minutes.”
“Show me.”
A holographic map of Rome and its surrounding countryside materialized in the middle of the circle formed by the saints. What looked like three swarms of bees were approaching the city from the north, east, and south.
“Explain,” Shaw commanded.
“The bot swarms are Lattice-guided, of course. Each swarm is comprised of approximately ten million bots,” Ignatius said.
“Thirty million bots headed this way? What would they do if they reached us? Er—me.”
“Convert your flesh and bones into a pile of graphite and water before shutting down,” Ignatius said evenly.
“Lovely,” Shaw said. “Like the bots that attacked Altair headquarters and tried to turn it into grey goo.”
“Those converted anything they encountered. These swarms are specifically designed to convert only the DNA of you and of His Holiness,” Ignatius reported. “Five minutes left before they arrive.”
“Can we beat them?”
“Our chance of success defending you will slowly go down over time but for the moment it’s at seventy percent.”
Shaw fought down his rising sense of fear. “I assume you have already been implementing countermeasures.”
“What we can,” Ignatius said.
“Such as?”
“We are immobilizing as many bots as we can when they pass through our layers of shielding. But with so many bots coming through, we’re only estimating that we will be able to neutralize half of the bots before they reach you.”
“And I assume fifteen million bots would be able to make just as quick work of me as thirty million would.”
“That is correct,” Ignatius said with a nod.
“What other defenses can we use to stop the swarms?” They were already much closer on the map than they’d been when it first illuminated.
“We have our own swarms that could counter. They only take thirty seconds to deploy, so the AI judged that we could wait for your order to use them.”
Shaw’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the problem? Why wouldn’t I give that order? If I don’t, they’re going to turn me and the pope into base elements.”
“Every bot we send is a bot we don’t have later,” Ignatius said. “We could release fifteen million to counter theirs, but releasing that many would halve our reserve. Our position would become much more precarious.”
Shaw reflected on that, and everything he’d heard before it. He looked to Aquinas. “They’re testing me, aren’t they? They want to see if I’ll use so many bots just to save my own skin—literally.”
Aquinas nodded. “That is correct.”
“Four minutes,” Ignatius reported.
“Am I worth fifteen million bots to you, Your Holiness?” Shaw asked.
“I believe you asked to be in charge of all military decisions, Grand Master Shaw,” Clement demurred.
“And a fine time to remind me,” Shaw answered. He thought aloud. “Think about it from the perspective of Zella Galway and the cartel. If I save myself, th
ey will have forced me to expend resources we wouldn’t otherwise, and we’ll likely have to face this exact same decision again. But if they succeed at killing me, they will have reduced the chance that I find a way to beat them and save my family. Heads they win, tails I lose.” He shook his head. Once again, it felt like he was playing someone else’s game. “You’re giving me the impression that it takes one bot to fight one bot?” Shaw asked the council.
Ignatius nodded.
“Can we reprogram ours in some way?” Shaw asked. “Create a way for one of ours to take out two or three of theirs instead?”
“Analyzing,” Ignatius answered. After two seconds he said, “Yes. Shall I reprogram?”
“Yes!” Shaw nearly cried.
“Reprogramming.”
“The cartel is reprogramming as well,” Ignatius said.
“What?” Shaw exclaimed.
“We’ve reprogrammed but they’ve adapted,” Ignatius said. “One to one again. Chance of success reduced to sixty percent.”
“This is what happens when two enemies with perfect information battle each other, I take it,” Shaw said. He wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked to the girl. “What would you recommend?”
“You know what a martyr is going to tell you in this situation.”
“Touché.”
“You can’t beat death,” she said.
“I have before,” he answered. Something struck Shaw and he turned it over in his mind. He closed his eyes and thought.
“Three minutes,” Ignatius reported.
Shaw was silent for several seconds. He could feel his anxiety rising but he pushed it back to focus on the tickle in his brain. Finally he asked, “Where is my clone?”
After killing Shaw and extracting him from his grave, the raiders had replaced his body in the coffin with an exact clone in case anyone happened to look. The idea of having a clone, even a dead one, had disturbed him at the time. But now…
“What?” Clement asked. “What does that have to do with—”
“Decaying in Arlington National Cemetery,” the AI reported. “Where the raiders left it.”
Shaw asked, “Is there any way that we can, I don’t know, remind the swarm that there is another place on Earth to find my DNA?”