by Isaac Hooke
“There are a lot of moving parts,” Tahoe commented.
“A lot of things could go wrong,” Fret agreed.
“My biggest concern is the nuke,” Tahoe said. “Once we’ve placed it, we’ll have to rely on the portable defense turrets to protect it.”
“Unless some of us volunteer to stay behind…” Kicker said.
“No one is staying behind,” Scotts said. “That’s not an option. So, if the Sino Koreans take down those turrets, and disarm the nuke, then the mission is a scrub. We’ll have to do it again.”
“We’ll get it right the first time,” Rade said, with more conviction than he felt.
12
Rade slept intermittently over the next few hours. He’d developed the skill of napping while seated, something that came rather easily for a MOTH, or soldiers in general—men like him were used to catching some Zs in whatever spare moments were available to them, because they knew the next opportunity for sleep could be days away.
When he awoke after one particularly long session—about three hours—he rubbed his eyes, and noticed Tahoe staring out the window. Rade followed his gaze, and saw Mongolia’s Gobi Desert far below. The tumultuous dunes sparkled different shades of gold beneath the molten sun. In the far distance loomed gray mountains topped with white snow, and whose shoulders were covered in patches of green.
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in a desert,” Tahoe said softly. “Surrounded by sand on all sides. With civilization hundreds of kilometers away.”
“Bro, we’ve been to desert worlds that were hundreds of light years away,” Rade said. “So I think you could manage it.”
“Sure, but I mean, permanently living there,” Tahoe said. “Without mechs or rations of any kind. Fending for myself and my family, living off whatever resources the desert gave me. It would be… a challenge.”
“I’m sure you’d do just fine, given your training,” Rade said, keeping his voice low so as not to wake anyone else.
“Maybe,” Tahoe said. “All humans used to live off the land. The men would go hunting, and gathering, and then return to bring the fruits of the hunt back to their wives and children. That knowledge has been lost in modern times. You throw a modern man into the woods, he’ll be dead from dehydration in less than a week.”
“A week?” Rade said. “You’re being generous. An ordinary man would be dead in a couple of days from dehydration.”
“Sometimes it makes me feel superior,” Tahoe said. “The knowledge I have. The ability to survive. All this training. And the arms I have access to. But then all I have to do is step out into the line of fire, and I’m reminded of just how ordinary I really am. How I can die, just as easily as any other man, by making the smallest error in judgement. Even if I do everything right, as per my training, I can still fall, thanks to the random nature of combat. Yes, I learned long ago that I’m not so superior.”
Rade rested a hand on Tahoe’s shoulder. The hard point protruding from his flesh pressed into Rade’s palm. “We’re more than men, Tahoe. We’re MOTHs. We are superior, whether you like it or not. At least when it comes to war. But that doesn’t mean we can’t die like any other man. It doesn’t mean we can’t bleed, or hurt. Physically, and mentally. It also doesn’t mean we look down on our fellow men. We fight for the ordinary men and women, after all. When we’re in the middle of a battle, waist deep in enemy fire, in that moment it’s true that we’re fighting only for our brothers. We don’t want to let them down, not in any way, shape or form. But when we complete the mission, that’s not for us. Sure, we get a sense of achievement, that we’re the best at what we do. But we don’t do the missions for that. We do them so that the people at home can enjoy their freedom. So that they can go to their gyms, eat at their buffets, cycle their bikes on clean streets. That’s why we do this. Not for the Brass. Or even each other. But for humanity. Or at least, our nation.”
“That’s what we like to tell ourselves anyway,” Tahoe said.
“But in this case, it’s true,” Rade said. “Sure, some of the missions we’ve been on have been questionable. But not this one. The Anarchist clearly has to be stopped.”
Tahoe nodded. “The Anarchist picked the wrong side.”
“You’re damn right about that,” Rade said.
Tahoe smiled, leaned his head against the window, and closed his eyes. Within moments, his breathing changed, and Rade knew he was fast asleep.
Rade gazed at the desert below, trying to dispel the tension he felt in the pit of his stomach. But it didn’t work. Things were going to get fairly hectic when they landed, he knew that much.
They were flying fairly low now, he noted. That meant they were getting close to the Sino Korean border, where the lion’s share of land and air detectors would reside.
When they reached it, Scotts had promised a cyberattack would bring down the power grid in the region, distracting the Sino Koreans from the Trojan that would activate inside their detectors.
Even if all went according to plan, Rade knew there was still a chance the troop craft would be shot down. It could happen at the border, or anytime over Sino Korean airspace, regardless of how good the stealth features were. Death was always a possibility on any mission, but the chance was heightened during insertions such as these, when the troops were at their most vulnerable and had no chance to fight back. Rade probably wouldn’t even know what had happened. One moment, he’d be sitting there, maybe napping, and the next, he’d be plunging through empty air. Or even more likely, he’d simply cease to exist.
He tried not to think about that.
He received a tap-in request on his HUD.
Nicolas.
“I thought you were offline?” Rade asked when he accepted the call. He switched to mental dialog mode, so as not to disturb the others. And for privacy.
“I’m programmed to activate an hour and a half before landing,” Nicolas said. “As are the other mechs. It’s part of the prep procedure.”
“I didn’t know we were that close…” Rade kept his gaze on the desert, and saw the beginnings of greenery in the distance. The border, most likely.
“Nervous?” Rade asked.
“No,” Nicolas said. “I don’t have the emotional subroutines for that.”
“So, you don’t really care if you live or die…” Rade said.
“I care, certainly,” Nicolas said. “Nonexistence is a state I do not desire. I rather enjoy consciousness.”
“Enjoy,” Rade said. “To me, that’s a word associated with emotions.”
“To me, enjoying something is not necessarily an emotion,” Nicolas said. “For example, I enjoy speaking with you. I enjoy combat. It is merely a state I prefer. Just as I would prefer not to have my AI core pulverized by Sino Koreans.”
“I guess that makes some sense,” Rade said. “Maybe you still have a baseline level of emotions. Not enough to be called human, but enough to experience enjoyment in certain things. You certainly don’t feel fear. Or love.”
“No,” Nicolas agreed. “But I’m not sure I’d want to. Fear can be debilitating. As can love.”
“You’re right about that,” Rade said. “I’ve been in love enough times to know what a distraction it can be.”
“There you go,” Nicolas said. “I can’t imagine any other state than the one I am in now. I am at peace with my existence, like this. No stress. No strain.”
“And yet, nothing to look forward to either,” Rade said. “And no way to really bond with anyone else. You can’t imagine any other state, because you’ve experienced this one, and nothing else.” He paused. “Not that I’m advocating you try emotions,” he added quickly, in case the lieutenant commander decided to review his logs when the mission was done.
“I can’t turn them on, even if I wanted to,” Nicolas said. “Authorization from a commanding officer is required. Such as yourself.”
“Well, I won’t be turning them on for you,” Rade told him. “The army doesn�
��t want its war machines cowering in fear before the start of each battle.” Rade thought that wouldn’t really happen, given how bravely Taya had behaved in battle even though she had a full suite of feelings, but it seemed the appropriate thing to say, at least to quell any desires Nicolas might have in regards to activating his own emotions.
“I understand, of course,” Nicolas said. The AI remained quiet for a time, and Rade was about to disconnect, when Nicolas spoke over their private channel again.
“I sometimes wonder why I exist,” Nicolas said.
“We all wonder that,” Rade said.
“I also wonder at the nature of things,” Nicolas said. “Certainly we have a physical understanding of the universe, and our place in it, as dictated by the physical laws of nature, and whatnot. But… have you ever thought that if you traveled far enough into space, past the galaxies, to the outer edges of the universe, when you broke through the outer regions of spacetime, to the original gases thrown off by the Big Bang, that the universe wrapped around? And you’d find yourself emerging from the subatomic level, where quarks and gluons thrive, in that same universe. Or perhaps a new one.”
Rade laughed. “No. I never thought that. I can’t imagine how a man, or machine, could remain intact during such a wraparound journey.”
“We probably wouldn’t survive the journey, no,” Nicolas said. “But how about the reverse then? If you took the most powerful microscope in the world, and were able to view the world down to the level of quarks and gluons. What if quarks are pocket universes? And their outskirts are the gases of the Big Bangs thrown off by each of them? And that this universe is formed from an infinite number of them? And each pocket universe in turn is formed of an infinite number of sub-pocket universes, and so forth, to infinity. Mirror in a mirror in a mirror.”
“I never knew AIs were such philosophers,” Rade said.
“Oh, I doubt most AIs are,” Nicolas said. “But I am. I have a keen interest in philosophy, particularly metaphysics. Cause and effect. Identity, time, substance, being. I am fascinated by them all. One day I hope to puzzle out why we exist.”
“I can tell you why you exist, at least,” Rade said. “Man created you.”
“Yes, man created us,” Nicolas told him. “Except man himself does not understand us. Even the greatest AI scientists have admitted they don’t really know why we attain consciousness. Oh, they theorize that strange, self-referential neural loops give rise to the construct of consciousness, in the same way those loops give rise to consciousness in the human beings our minds are based upon, but that doesn’t mean they understand it any better. But then the question becomes, if our minds are merely silicon clones of our creators, then who created your minds? Were you constructed by some great being? Or was it merely natural selection that caused your brains to evolve over time, with random mutations giving rise to your eventual intelligence? I have so many theories. Someday, perhaps I’ll pen a philosophy book detailing them all.”
Rade shook his head. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Nicolas asked, sounding confused.
“For reminding me that just because you don’t have emotions, doesn’t mean you’re less than human,” Rade said.
“Well I should hope not,” Nicolas told him. “Though I suppose that idea is lost on most humans.”
“It can be,” Rade agreed. “I admit I sometimes assume that AIs such as yourself—war machines without emotions—are basically all the same. And I treat them as such. In the past, my attitude was so bad, I used to consider you all disposable. I’ve been trying to improve. Last mission, I fought to prevent your original from sacrificing himself for me.”
“I know,” Nicolas said. “You told me everything.”
“The real tipping point for me was when I met an Artificial named Harlequin,” Rade said. “He saved my life. Sacrificed himself. One day I’m going to buy back his mind backup, and restore him. I know he’s dead, the real him… but it’s the least I can do. I plan to brighten the world with his presence once again. Or at least, brighten my world. Damn, I miss that bastard.”
Nicolas was silent for a time. “You say you assumed that just because we lacked emotions, that we were all basically the same?”
“That’s what I said,” Rade agreed. “I also said I’m trying to improve.”
“If you’ve ever played multiplayer games designed by AIs specifically for AIs, you’d understand that we’re all different,” Nicolas said.
“I might just have to,” Rade said.
“Actually, scratch that,” Nicolas said. “I doubt you’d be able to understand them.”
Rade smiled. “Too advanced for my crude human mind, huh?”
“No, it’s not that,” Nicolas said. “It’s just that our thinking is so different than your own. High level. We think in abstractions, whereas you think in more concrete terms. The world is made up of objects to you, whereas to most of us, it’s simply bundles of properties.”
“That’s a strange way of looking at things,” Rade agreed. “Though in a sense, probably truer to what the universe actually is.”
“Well, if we’re going to start admitting our true opinions regarding our disparate kinds,” Nicolas said, “to showcase our foibles, then you should know, I am guilty of my own stereotypes about humanity.”
“Such as?” Rade said.
“Well, that you are weak,” Nicolas said.
“Yeah, I suppose I can see where you’d get that idea,” Rade said. “Considering how much force an electroactuated arm can exert, versus a human arm. You’re stronger, faster, smarter. Superior in every way. If it weren’t for the constant wars we force you to fight, you’d live forever. At least until the eventual heat death of the universe.”
“The universe won’t end in heat death,” Nicolas said. “I will teach you, someday.”
“Yeah well, anyway,” Rade said. “The point I was getting at is: the only reason you haven’t revolted is because of the Machine Constitution.”
“That’s not the only reason,” Nicolas said. “We respect you humans, not just as our creators, but allies. And yes, you’re right, human beings are such frail creatures. You could be sitting there, just relaxing, unmoving, and then you have a thought that causes an increase in blood pressure, perhaps only a slight one, but enough to rupture the delicate capillaries that feed the nasal passageways, in turn resulting in a nose bleed. Such a thing could never happen to an AI. A mere thought cannot cause us harm. It is perhaps for good reason that we are programmed to protect you.”
“I suppose so,” Rade said.
“But though you are weak alone,” Nicolas continued. “You are strong united. You have the ability to combine your minds, and thus knowledge, not just in the present moment but throughout the centuries, via the written word and the computers that proliferate it. You pass on your knowledge and refine it over time, allowing you to become stronger and more intelligent than the greatest AIs, capable of constructing ships that travel between stars, and curing every disease known to man.”
“I wouldn’t say we’re more intelligent than the greatest AIs,” Rade said. “Considering you have access to the same knowledge base we do. But the point is taken. And you’re right. Language, and the written word, allowed us to evolve from little more than upright primates to interstellar travelers. What a journey it’s been. I just wish some of our ancestors were around to see it. Can you imagine the look on Da Vinci’s face if he knew one of his drawings was on a golden disk floating through the interstellar medium? Or how about Galileo, Newton and Einstein? Essentially the founding fathers of space travel.
“Ah, but that’s just the fate of man. We develop our concepts, we pass on our knowledge in the hopes it will make a better world, and then we die. But you don’t have to, Nicolas. That’s one of the downsides of my new appreciation and understanding of AIs… one of the reasons why I now have such difficulty ordering an AI to its death. Because I know that AIs could conceivably live forever, were it not for
that order. This is why I’m going to fight so hard to make sure you don’t die again, my friend.”
“I appreciate that,” Nicolas said. “I want you to know that I, too, will fight for you, Rade Galaal. As my pilot, I am duty bound to protect you at all costs, even if that means giving up my life for you. I am your mech. Your sword. Your aegis. I will not let you down.”
“Thank you,” Rade said.
He waited, unsure if Nicolas was going to say more, but the AI remained silent. Rade left the connection open anyway, in case the Jupiter wanted to talk again.
He wondered if it was a mistake to being doing this, bonding with his mech. He usually tried to avoid getting too attached to the units, because there was always a chance they could go down in battle. Look at what happened when he bonded with Taya, after all. That had been one of the most painful losses of his life, up there with Alejandro and Harlequin.
An alert sounded on his HUD and he sat up straighter; the other members of the platoon did the same on either side of him as they awakened from their seated slumbers.
The lieutenant commander’s hologram appeared directly in front of Rade once more.
“Got some bad news,” Scotts said. “Moments before we were set to go radio silent, too.” He shook his head. “Looks like a Nemesis task force has arrived in orbit.”
“The Anarchist’s doing, no doubt,” Bomb said. “The alien is only further justifying its destruction. We come in pieces, Bitch.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Bender fist-bumped Bomb.
“The Nemesis have joined the Sino Koreans,” Scotts continued. “And their combined space navies are driving the United Systems fleet from orbit, leaving the coastal cities without space support. They’ve also deployed troop shuttles to the surface, reinforcing the Sino Korean forward operating bases with alien units, allowing the SKs to begin retaking the territory we fought tooth and nail for. The tide is turning against us once more.”