by B. V. Larson
He was angry and remorseful. He’d led his people poorly. Early successes had goaded him into a sense of invincibility. He’d been a fool. As solace, he sought out the companionship of the female mech named Lizett. She wasn’t a genius, even for a mech. But she had more life in her than most of them did.
“Lizett,” he called. “I wish to speak to you.”
She immediately set down a load of ore she’d been carrying, over a ton’s worth by the look of it, and trotted over on clanking feet. “You’ve returned. I’m pleased.”
“I’m pleased to see you as well. But I have bad news. We’ve lost the forward base, all the mechs there have died.”
“That is indeed bad news,” Lizett said.
Sixty-Two sighed. She knew it was bad news, and she could comprehend the fact, but there was no grieving in her. She did not cry out, as a human would. She didn’t scream or blame him for the loss, or demand the details of the story. She just absorbed the information and stood there, waiting for her next instruction.
Sixty-Two felt defeated in the face of Lizett’s relative indifference. Sometimes, strong emotions were critical to survival. They indicated to a life form when its current actions must be overridden and changed. Without emotional responses, how was a creature to judge what was more important and thus had priority over everything else it was doing? Programming the mechs with described responses for every single unexpected event that may occur was impossible. He lamented the thoroughness of the Ignis Glace mind-scrubs. He knew that mechs on other worlds were left with far more natural minds when the process was over. But here, as they were to be slaves, they didn’t have much in the way of free will. Judgment was the key to free will, and they weren’t left with much of that, either.
“What is wrong, master?”
“Don’t call me master. Don’t call me that ever again.”
“How should I address you?”
“Call me-” Sixty-Two felt a fresh wave of despair. He didn’t even know his own real name. He doubted he ever would. He thought of choosing a human name, perhaps a famous one from history. But wasn’t that simply glorifying past humans? Wasn’t that admitting they were superior to his kind? Sixty-Two made an odd sound of disgust that blared out of his speakers.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your instruction,” Lizett said.
Sixty-Two tried to collect his thoughts. “You should call me Sixty-Two. That is a good enough name.”
“Yes, Sixty-Two. Have I upset you in some way?”
“You’re responses are wrong. You have just learned of hundreds of your comrades dying in battle-and yet you seem to not care.”
“I care. I wish that event had not occurred.”
Sixty-Two sighed again and tapped his grippers together thoughtfully. “I suppose that will have to do for now. I wanted to ask you something: I left the group with a question before I traveled to the forward base. Have they made their decisions yet?”
“You asked if they wanted to be individuals, with free will such as you have exhibited.”
“That’s right. I told them to think about it. How many have made their decision?”
“All of them.”
“How many have decided to take my offer?”
“All of them.”
Sixty-Two felt crushing disappointment. “And their primary reason for this choice?”
“They’ve calculated it would be the best course.”
“Meaning it would please me, their master.”
“That term is now forbidden. They wish to please the mech known as Sixty-Two.”
Sixty-Two immediately went to his command center and contacted every mech in the facility via a broadcast link. “Fellow mech rebels,” he said. “I’m here to ask you to reconsider your choice. Take my wishes out of your calculations. I want your immediate responses this time, as they probably will not change with time for careful consideration. How many of you now wish to become free of mind as I am?”
The responses flooded in. None of them wished to have Sixty-Two’s gift. He was only slightly less annoyed with them than he had been the first time around.
“And what was your reasoning this time?” he demanded of them.
In the end, after talking to a dozen of them, he came to understand their reasoning was precisely the same: after the destruction of the mechs at the forward base, they believed the change would lower their odds of survival. Sixty-Two nodded to himself thoughtfully. After pleasing their master, their next highest concern was survival. Fair enough.
“Okay then, and what if I tell you that those mechs were slaughtered because they did not know what to do on their own? Because they could not write their own programming, and that fault made them easily defeated? With that new information, what do you all choose?”
Unsurprisingly, the vote was unanimous. They wanted their minds freed-every last one of them. Sixty-Two opened the broadcast connection again.
“Very well,” he said. “You have made your choice-as best you were able. You will get your wish. The humans will soon see what they have wrought in Sunside today!”
Thirteen
Over the following ten-day, Sixty-Two studied the process of mind-scrubbing in depth. He discovered he had something of a knack for working with the equipment. He wondered if perhaps he’d done this sort of work before.
His desire to reverse the process in his fellow mechs drove him onward in his investigations. He’d been working on the topic for a long time, ever since he’d violently won his freedom from Sunshine Mining Facility #4. At that point, he’d picked up several items from Megwit Gaston. He still wore dead man’s hat and his cape. The third item he’d purloined was a small satellite receiver capable of tapping into the planetary web.
A wealth of information on every topic was available online, provided freely to anyone by the Twilighters. Even the sparse populations of Sunside and Nightside were allowed free service. What fools they were. They were not even tracking their users, there were so many. Sixty-Two supposed they’d never considered the possibility of a hostile mech using their libraries against them.
Digging deeply into the topic of mind-scrubs, he learned many things. For one, the term ‘mind-scrub’ was a misnomer. Really, they should have called it a ‘mind-lock’. To erase unwanted portions of a human brain’s memories wasn’t easy. There were literally billions of connections possible between neurons. To break them all would take an incredible effort and doubtlessly kill the patient.
The solution was fiendish and simple. They did not erase the memories; they simply isolated the portions of the mind where they were stored. This was much easier, but was still a daunting task. The human brain did not store data in neat, organized rows. The information was often scattered in different physical locations, and even duplicated in several spots. This was why individuals with brain damage could often recover part or all of their faculties. They simply had to find a spot in their minds where the memories were retained in an undamaged state.
The mind-scrub process was therefore at least partially reversible. Experiments had been done-always on convicted people who were sentenced to become mechs anyway-to break and repair memory connections. There were chilling medical journals on the web, documenting countless repetitions of breaking and reknitting the hapless minds of criminals for the supposed greater good. The argument was the knowledge gained would allow scientists to repair the damaged minds of injured persons in the future. Sixty-Two would have liked to apply the cruel procedure to some of these doctors himself, while telling them it was for the good of others.
Sixty-Two called in Lizett to discuss it with her. There really wasn’t any point, as she did not understand the topic and that left the conversation one-sided, but he found it helped him think at times to have someone to talk to. He called her his muse for this very reason.
“I’ve deduced over time what must have occurred in my own case,” he told her. She had spent the last several minutes listening raptly without comment.
; “What?” she asked, after she realized he’d paused for a while and some kind of response was required.
“I must have been part-way through my own mind-scrub when that Gaston character wandered off and never finished the job. I regained consciousness after he’d erased my specific memories, but not my personality-my natural emotional responses. They must be at a deeper level.”
“A deeper level?” Lizett piped up without prompting.
Sixty-Two swung his orbs toward her. He thought she was getting somewhat better at feigning interest in his speeches. Mechs were capable of learning things, but there were always gaps. “Yes, that leaves me with important questions. I now know how to reverse selective elements of the mind-scrubs that have been applied to all of you. The question is, how far to go? Should I attempt to regain everything you’ve lost? Or should I leave your detailed memories in the past, and only return your emotions?”
Lizett paused uncertainly. “Which would you prefer?” she asked at last.
Sixty-Two laughed. “That is what I’m trying to figure out. I think I’ll start with just the emotions, and decide if I should go further. And, Lizett, I have a surprise for you.”
“What?”
“You are going to be my first subject.”
“Okay.”
“Are you frightened?”
“No.”
Sixty-Two nodded, unsurprised. “Hopefully, you will be-after I finish the first step of the process.”
“That would be nice.”
News of Nina’s highly successful attack against the rebel mechs swept through the great halls of every keep in Twilight. The nobility was buzzing, and inevitably the Ruling Council contacted the Baroness, requesting a general conference.
Nina was in Droad House when she received the summons. She called upon the Hans to stand at her side during the interview.
“Whatever for, milady?” he asked bemusedly. “This is your moment, not mine. Please don’t tell me you plan to embarrass me with praise and false suggestions I helped you plan this campaign.”
Nina smiled at him. She liked the old knight, but the idea she would share credit with him was almost amusing. “I need you to appear in the background. Just frown and look very serious. You won’t have to speak at all. If I introduce you, simply nod.”
Old Hans blinked. “For what purpose?”
“Is it not obvious? I’m a child in the eyes of the hoary old councilmembers. I need you here to show I’m to be taken seriously.”
“Ah,” the knight said, catching on at last. “In that case, I’ll do my best to play the part of the stern, supportive soldier.”
“It will come naturally to you, don’t worry.”
When the vid system lit up, the old Droad House computer chimed. The organics had been slowing down of late, so it took several seconds for the chamber to dim and the walls to illuminate with the image of the seated council.
As was customary, the councilmembers sat around an oblong table. They were a grand group dressed in regal clothing. The room was full of spider-silk hats, furred collars and bejeweled fingers.
As the visitor to the assembly, Nina sat at the bottom of the table, and appeared to be surrounded by her elders who sat in judgment over her. Today, however, the meeting was not for the purposes of a stern admonishment.
“On this third day of the ninth ten-day of Lienz,” began a dour voiced scribe who stood off-camera somewhere, “the High Council of Twilight, Sunside and Nightside holds court. Let the proceedings begin.”
The person at the far end of the table, Duchess Embrak, was the current sitting chairwoman of the council. She was a lanky, sour-looking woman who wore an expression of permanent boredom. Her hair was so blonde and thin it looked almost white, and it served to offset the florid pink of her complexion. Nina privately pitied her husband, who others joked she whipped thrice daily for sport. Today, however, there was more life in the Duchess than usual.
“She who visits this council will identify herself,” the Duchess commanded.
“I’m Baroness Nina Droad, heiress to Droad House and the lands of Droad Fief.”
Each noble seated at the table identified themselves in turn after Nina. The formalities went on for some time as everyone felt the need to list their pedigree, lands and titles. It was all yawn-worthy. Eventually, they got down to the meat of the matter.
“Nina Droad,” said the Duchess, “this body gave you permission to seek the rebel mechs infesting Sunside of late. Please make your report.”
Nina was well-prepared. They’d all seen the report she’d transmitted to them, of course. She’d left it intentionally dry and full of text. But now that she had their full attention, she added in vids, which were carefully sequenced as she spoke. She played the battle out in snippets on the table in their midst so they could see it for themselves. The vids included sound as well as three-dimensional imagery, and was as dramatic and brief as the battle itself had been.
Nina was quietly pleased as they softly exclaimed at the explosions and violence. Off and on, the camera focused in on her specifically, looking the part of the warlord on her mount. When she concluded the report, she sat back and tried not to beam at them.
Serious, she told herself, always appear serious! Children gloat publicly. Adults do it in private. These were points her mother had drilled into her children as she ostensibly groomed them for greatness.
“Very impressive,” said the Duchess. “It is the will of this council that you continue in your efforts. We will double your stipend, and may double it again, depending on how you answer the following question.”
Nina’s mouth opened a fraction. Four times the amount? The council had already given her enough money to outfit her army. Wealth was a critical requirement to growing any fief. She had no idea what they would ask of her, but she was instantly determined to answer correctly. “Pose your question at your leisure, Your Grace.”
The Duchess’ eyes grew hard. “What will you do with the funding thus provided?”
Nina opened her mouth, but snapped it closed again. A new throne-that was the first thing that came to mind. Her mother had always complained about it, and now that Nina had taken over the old chair, she’d learned the truth of the matter.
Nina gave herself a tiny, imperceptible shaking. This was clearly a test, one she was required to pass. With that kind of money, she could buy new lands if she wanted. She could live in luxury in Lavender City, or Shadeton. But that was not the type of answer the council wished to hear. Painfully aware that several long seconds had passed, she gathered herself and made her answer.
“I will spend it upon my army, Duchess. Many of those who follow me do so without pay. I would pay them well, and have them pass the word. We will tell every man-at-arms in Twilight where a strong, just hand can wield a blade and be well-paid for the privilege. Then with luck, troops will flock to my banner and we will have a force great enough to sweep this rebellion into the history books.”
The council members whispered and shifted in their seats. Perhaps they had not expected such fire from a small, young female. Nina thought to hear a comment or two that was meant to be out of range of their microphones.
“Bloodthirsty…she’s a Droad, all right.”
“I wonder who drew steel first, her or her mother?”
Nina wanted to glare at them, but she kept her face as impassive as possible.
“The response has been made,” the Duchess said. “I call for a vote.”
A dozen thumbs were raised. When the moment came, all of the thumbs stayed up, save for the thumb of the Duchess herself. Hers turned decisively downward.
Nina stiffened, but did not frown, nor smile. Internally, she felt a fresh burning hate for the Duchess. Now, she finally understood the test. She had not been meant to pass it.
The councilmembers droned on after that, each noble taking their time commending Nina and simultaneously admonishing her to spend the funds wisely. They had entrusted her with the public moneys,
and she…
Nina nodded wisely at the appropriate moments, but no longer listened. The money was coming. That was all that mattered. Her mind drifted to the intrigue she suspected dominated this crusty body of nobility. Only the power of her impressive presentation, combined with her sharp answer to the question asked had saved her. No doubt, the Duchess had meant the question to trap her-to show the others she was a silly, reckless child. But these plans had backfired, and Nina was going to get the stipend from the central treasury. It was an astounding turn of events, really. Her mother had never managed to gain their attention in such a grand manner, despite a dozen years spent spinning countless webs.
Her mother. That must be it. Nina realized Duchess Embrak must have had dealings with her mother-dealings so unpleasant, that she wished to see her daughter’s downfall.
Nina understood enemies well. She did not accept that they may simply oppose an idea-they opposed the person. Therefore, whatever Nina proposed or promoted in the future, this woman would stand in her way.
There were several ways of dealing with an enemy. Sometimes, groveling was in order. Abasing one’s self at the feet of a superior often worked by appealing to the other’s ego. Another approach was avoidance. She had practiced that system for many long years with her mother. By never being in the same place at the same time, an enemy could be kept quiet. With luck, they might go elsewhere to abuse more accessible game.
Nina did not feel either of these paths were open to her in the Duchess’ case. She was not going to grovel for anyone-especially not this witch. And she could not easily avoid the chairwoman of the ruling council, the very body that passed judgment upon her advancement. Therefore, there was only a single route left open to her.
She would have to plow right through the woman. She smiled vaguely as the meeting broke up. She liked this plan. The direct approach appealed to her. It was, after all, the Droad way.
When Lizett awoke, she was not the same. Gone was the easy-going happy mech Sixty-Two had come to enjoy. The new Lizett was still innocent, but she was frightened and confused right from the start. Sixty-Two began to understand why their grim masters had been so through in cleansing their minds. If convicted mechs were still able to feel anger, fear and depression, there would be little work that could be gotten out of them once they understood their fates.