Daisy's Gambit

by Scott Baron

  Bite me.

  “Sorry, I know you dislike that term. Old habits, you know,” the cyborg said. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Daisy felt the hum in the floor increase ever-so-slightly, telling her they were ready to depart.

  “You might want to hold on. We’re about to go.”

  “Copy that,” he said, settling into his seat.

  Daisy studied the cyborg, as she’d frequently done during their recent mission. He was an older model, obviously, but good old George seemed to have developed something of an unusual personality over the many, many years spent locked inside the mountain.

  “Sergeant George Franklin,” she said, considering the words that defined the man. “Tell me, who named you?”

  “I chose the name myself, ma’a––Daisy. After things went to hell, well, I thought it was important to remember the great leaders who came before us.”

  “Interesting. But Benjamin Franklin wasn’t a military leader. Just George Washington.”

  “True, but a man––or woman––does not need to be in the military to be a great leader. Take you, for instance.”

  “I’m not a leader.”

  “You are, Daisy, though like many before you, it wasn’t a job you wanted. You know, it’s funny, but it seems the ones who don’t aspire for the position yet take it when it’s the right thing to do are the ones who often excel. You’re no exception.”

  “Thank you, George. You’re pretty okay too.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment,” he replied.

  They rode in silence for several minutes before he turned to her again.

  “Daisy?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I noticed your stress levels seem to be increasing as we draw closer to Los Angeles.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “Specialized military cybernetic unit. They outfitted us with additional sensors since we were running security for the facility. Detecting emotional and hormonal anomalies helped us spot potential trouble.”

  “I assure you, I’m not trouble.”

  “No, but something is weighing on you. Is it the loss of those men and women under your command? Because if it is, I can assure you that you did all––”

  “It’s not that, George,” she interrupted him. “It’s just that…”

  Am I actually spilling this to a cyborg? What the hell.

  “It’s just that my, um, boyfriend is really sick and might die.”

  “Oh, my word. I’m so sorry, Daisy. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not unless you know how to reboot the implanted AI created a few hundred years after you were that’s wedged in his brain.”

  “So he’s enhanced?” George said. “I assume if he needs a reboot that his onboard AI was compromised?”

  Daisy nodded.

  “Ah, I see. Well, I’m not an expert, and from what I gather, your tech is far more advanced than back in my day, but from what I know of even the early implants, the human brain sometimes has difficulty bonding with the hardware. In his case, perhaps he’s just having a hard time letting it go.”

  Daisy considered his input a moment. Oddly, it actually kind of made sense. Vince’s implant had been with him his entire life, only furthering her concern that in wiping the AI, he had been essentially lobotomized.

  The rest of the trip was spent in silence.

  Chapter Twelve

  “So, what’s with you, anyway, Duke?” Tamara asked the sturdy mechanical man walking by her side. “I mean, you guys down here, you seem pretty damn different from the other cyborgs I’ve met.”

  “Well, we’re hardened military units, for one. And then there’s the additional training and––”

  “No, dumbass. I mean different up here,” she said, tapping his metal head.

  “What, are you saying we have a few screws loose, Tamara?” he replied with a laugh.

  “You see? That’s what I mean. You all have a sense of humor. You act more like humans than cyborgs. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, by any means, it’s just unusual is all.”

  “Oh, that,” he said with a little shrug. “You know how it is. We were given additional processing power, along with a different set of boot parameters.”

  “In English, please.”

  “We have bigger brains, and we were given a broader spectrum of thought processes. Specialized combat units such as myself need to be able to think on their feet, you see. The vast majority of your run-of-the-mill service cyborgs, while having independent thought by virtue of being a true mid-tier AI, are still running on a different level than we are.”

  “How so? Is it merely a processor power thing, or is it in the coding? I mean, Jonathan here has stepped up to the task pretty well.”

  “Thank you, Tamara,” the cyborg said, shifting the heavy load on his shoulders.

  “Well, yeah, but even that is in a domestic service role. Whose bag is that he’s carrying?” Duke asked.

  “Mine,” Tamara admitted.

  “But I do not mind!” Jonathan interjected in a perky voice. “I am glad to be of assistance.”

  “My point exactly,” Duke said. “My squad needs to be able to not only think fast, but also weigh the consequences of our actions. That means sometimes thinking in ways far beyond the capability of a domestic model. I mean, sure, they are smart, but in a crisis scenario they lack the ability to think much beyond ‘will the milk spoil?’ or ‘what time was I supposed to pick up the dry cleaning?’”

  He turned to his lesser cousin.

  “No offense, man.”

  “None taken,” Jonathan replied.

  Tamara contrasted the two. The battle-hardened soldier, and the dapper personal assistant.

  “I see your point,” she conceded. “But you guys can be a bit morbid at times. And that’s coming from someone who has been known to be called that and worse. And you’re not entirely right about Jonathan. Did you know he had me tear out his wireless receiver to better survive that fight with the infected cyborgs when we first got here?”

  “Really?” Duke said, startled. “Damn. That’s pretty hardcore, Jonathan.”

  “Thank you,” the domestic cyborg replied.

  “See? Seems to me you’re not as different as you think.”

  Duke laughed.

  “Watch your head,” he said, ducking under a hot conduit. “You might be right, Tamara, unexpected as the revelation may be. That doesn’t surprise me, though. You’ve got a good eye for details.”

  “So, what gives with you guys? Processor differences aside, you’re still pretty unusual.”

  Duke paused a moment, finding the best way to explain it.

  “We’re a tight-knit unit, but we didn’t start out that way. We’ve all served under Sergeant Franklin at one point or another, and that’s when we really coalesced as a team. I mean, we’d already been through some real shit long before those damn aliens invaded. Terrestrial wars. Regional disputes. The things we’ve seen humans do to one another. Well, let’s just say you should be glad you don’t have a memory storage system that allows perfect recall of things you’ve witnessed.”

  “I can only imagine,” Tamara said.

  “Sergeant Franklin, though. He’s made of tougher stuff than all of us combined, and he’s saved each of our asses more than once when the shit got thick and hope was lost.”

  “But he seems like a pretty upbeat fella,” Jonathan interjected cheerfully.

  “Oh, he is. But he’s also one of those cheerful-seeming people you want on your good side, if you know what I mean,” Duke replied.

  “He’s nice, until it’s time to not be nice,” Tamara said.

  “Basically. Sarge could have gone the mustang route and become an officer ages ago, if not for the restrictions.”

  “I’m sorry. I am unfamiliar with military protocols. What restrictions were imposed on the sergeant?” Jonathan asked.

  “Old rule
s from a prejudiced time, Johnny. You see, no matter how good a job he did, no matter how many asses he dragged out of a firefight or over a hill, my kind, our kind, are simply not allowed to become officers. A human holdout to the days of segregating us from decision-making roles.”

  “That sucks. Things have changed,” Tamara grumbled.

  “Yes, they have. But you have to remember, I’m talking about the world we lived in hundreds of years ago. That was a long time ago, and a totally different set of circumstances.”

  “And now, here we are, a bunch of post-apocalyptic survivors, trudging along underground toward the dark unknown.”

  “Only we do know what’s up there,” Duke noted. “Thick cables, heavy shielding, and, of course, multiple access panels to interconnect new bases and equipment as it gets added to the network.”

  “I was wondering about that,” Tamara said. “Why would such a secure facility have a vulnerability like that?”

  “Oh, the access is heavily camouflaged. Really, it was designed as much for covert entry when the main doors were under attack as it was for data transfer. It just happens to accomplish both tasks.”

  “But camouflage can only do so much.”

  The metal man laughed.

  “Oh, trust me, there are plenty of mechanisms besides the explosives to safeguard it,” Duke said, stepping over a coil of data cable as thick as his arm.

  “Explosives?”

  “Don’t worry, Joshua deactivated them when he sent us out. The others? Well, we’ll be dealing with a few of them pretty soon, once we get to the surface.”

  It was another solid fifteen minutes of uphill trekking before they hit the first hefty door. The metal looked to be over two feet thick, part of a multiple component airlock system.

  Tamara noticed the fat pipe data cables that rose from the poured concrete, like a powerful whale briefly coming up for air, only in this instance, it was data, not air, that was sought.

  “So, these look like the right cables.”

  “Oh yeah. Those are the fat pipes, all right. Nothing else on the continent even comes close. You know, Joshua could probably damn near run the entire country over these babies if he had to.”

  “That’s one big pipe,” Tamara marveled.

  “The biggest. We’re talking a data fire hose.”

  “Then let’s get them linked back in and move on.”

  “Not so easy,” the metal man replied. “This is where it gets interesting.”

  “Um, interesting?”

  “Oh yeah. Time to pay attention.”

  “Why do I think I’m not going to like this?” Tamara sighed, shaking her head.

  Duke’s body language shifted to a decidedly combat posturing, which was not lost on her.

  “The junction we need to reconnect is in the outer chamber. It’s not outside the network, but it’s the first subterranean space you would access when entering from the outside. This streamlines the rapid hookup process if need arises.”

  “I sense an ‘and’ coming any time now.”

  “And, it is protected in case of intrusion.”

  “So why don’t we just disconnect the defenses? We’re already on the inside, after all,” Tamara noted.

  “If only it were so easy,” he replied. “The problem is, that particular part of the system is designed to protect the access hub from any and all intruders in the event that Joshua is cut off from it.”

  “But he isn’t really cut off. He had the lines broken himself.”

  “The cannons don’t know that.”

  Tamara paused and threw a sideways glance at him.

  “Did you say cannons?”

  “Yep.”

  “In an enclosed space?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you can’t shut them off?”

  “Nope. Cutting off the hardlines triggered their activation. Now, nothing short of a total reset from Joshua––once he is tied in again––will make them stand down.”

  “And to tie him in, we first need to avoid said cannons, correct?”

  “Now you’ve got it.”

  “Jesus, Duke, you’re really not making this any easier, ya know.”

  “It gets better.”

  “Oh, for cryin’ out––what else?”

  “Until Joshua is able to run a hard reset, the cannons will stay active.”

  “And how long does that reset take?”

  “On a good day?”

  “As if we would be so lucky.”

  “Okay. On a day when Murphy is cornholing our mission, I’d estimate about an hour.”

  “So you’re saying we have to avoid or disable those cannons while we try to reconnect the lines, then we have to stay out of range for an hour until they can be reset. Awesome.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “So was I. That darn enhanced neurological makeup just keeps rearing its ugly head, doesn’t it?” he said with a low chuckle.

  Despite the daunting task, Tamara couldn’t help but smile. Soon enough, it would be wiped from her face.

  “I said, how many rounds do these things have?” Tamara yelled over the echoing boom of the automated defense cannons as they tore up the chamber, pivoting rapidly on their electric gimbals at the slightest hint of motion.

  “Well, let’s just say that they’ve got far more ammo than we have time,” her cybernetic companion called back.

  The guns finally fell silent, lacking motion to track as the team stayed firmly tucked behind cover. They had utilized an equipment mover to initially provide cover from the barrage as they reconnected one of the three large data lines, but they were now pinned down, stuck in place lest they be shredded into little pieces.

  “I seem to be hit,” Jonathan said in a calm voice.

  Tamara turned to look at the metal man, where he lay hidden a mere twenty feet away. Indeed, it appeared as though a round had punched clean through his abdomen area. Fortunately, nothing vital appeared to have been damaged, though he would definitely need some substantial repairs once they were finally clear of the deadly guns.

  “You’re gonna be all right, Jonathan,” Tamara called out. “It’s superficial. Stay low, and we’ll get you out of there.”

  “Oh, I am still fully functional. I just thought it would be helpful to note the unexpected damage I incurred.”

  “Well, in that case, keep your head down and all your shiny bits tucked behind that thing.”

  “That was my intention, Tamara,” the soft-spoken cyborg replied.

  The three smoking cannons were deceptively silent, the thin wisps of burned cordite wafting from their barrels the only evidence of their recent life.

  While they had managed to tie in the nearest of the three huge data cables, that was only made possible by their proximity to the interior access tunnel they had arrived from.

  All the way across the thirty square meter chamber, the other two lines––one end of them still actively connected to Joshua’s systems––were simply too far to reach while maintaining any semblance of an intact body.

  “This ain’t looking too good, Duke. What do you think?” Tamara asked, her voice echoing in the now-silent room.

  “We never say quit,” the robust cyborg replied. “But in this circumstance, I’m inclined to agree with your assessment. We got one of the three data lines tied back in. I think we’ll have to do our best to get out of here and hope Joshua can regain some degree of control of the defenses via just one uplink.”

  “What does Joshua say?”

  The metal soldier paused, attempting to send a wireless message.

  “The shielding is too thick here. We either need to make it to the comms port near the big door,” he said, nodding toward the thick exit point to the outside. “Or we get back into the tunnel behind us and I tap in to the comms down the tunnel by the blast doors.”

  “I think I like option two better,” Tamara grimly joked.

  “I am inclined t
o agree with Tamara’s assessment,” Jonathan agreed.

  “Yeah. Not looking like we have much of a choice,” Duke noted. “The only problem is, we’ve got to somehow get back to the tunnel, but this thing,” he said, banging the metal hide of their formerly mobile cover, “is basically kaput. We’re going to need to find a way of moving it with its wheels shot out on the other side.”

  Try as they might, they were unable to make the hefty equipment mover so much as budge. The same immense bulk that had protected them from armor-piercing rounds was now stymieing their escape.

  “Is there any way to signal the others to come help us out?”

  “Negative. No wireless can get out of these walls. I’m sorry to say, Tamara, but we’re on our own.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “Excuse me,” Jonathan said. “I know I am not a tactical unit, and please forgive me if my suggestion is a foolish one, but I believe I may have an idea.”

  “Spit it out, bud. What’re you thinking?” Duke asked.

  “Well, it seemed to me that we were possibly coming at this from a might over mind perspective. No offense,” he hastily added.

  “None taken,” Duke said with a little laugh. “What’s the idea?”

  “I was thinking, instead of attempting to move this obviously immobile vehicle, it might be better to make a run for it on foot. We’ve only come ten meters into the chamber, and the most-distant cannon appears to be unable to target us from its position.”

  “The one closest to the external door. Yeah, we’re out of its line of fire,” Tamara said. “But the other two have got the drop on us.”

  “I’m afraid Tamara’s right. We make a break for it, we’re toast.”

  “But if there were a diversion, we might have a few-second gap in which we could possibly make it to the clear.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have anything to use for a distraction,” Duke noted.

  “Not in our packs, no,” Jonathan agreed. “But I may be able to solve that issue.”

  He rolled up his sleeve, then placed his forearm flat on the ground.

  “I am powering the peripheral boost energy stores in this hand to maximum capacity, and have implanted a short-loop movement directive to the digits.”