World Breakers, page 29
“Thinking involves a whole lot more than just closing the decision loop. What about concepts like honor and duty? Or do you just kill indiscriminately until you win?”
We do what is necessary to achieve our objective.
“And what is that?”
To eliminate all threats to our existence.
“Meaning us.”
Yes.
Approximately halfway into the journey to our theater command post, it became necessary to enter a regeneration cycle. Being isolated from the battalion presented considerable risk so I waited until dark, as finding a clear position to raise my antenna mast would negate any concealment the terrain might otherwise offer.
Part of the standard regen cycle includes updates of status reports and instructions from the command post. This constituted a considerable download after being out of the network for so long.
The information was unexpected. Satellite and overhead drone imagery showed the human armies were withdrawing across the front. Their intentions were not apparent, other than making a move to consolidate their forces.
What motivated the humans? Had they accepted defeat, or were they preparing for a counterattack? Our intel section could not determine what their next move might be, but it was prudent to expect a focused assault along one of our flanks.
Being exposed in the manner I was, knowing the enemy’s armies were gathering somewhere in the distance, offered a perspective I had not considered before: at this moment, I could not count on protection from my own kind. A human might call it “unnerving.”
I was determined to learn more, if only to better protect myself. Perhaps the others would find it useful once I could access the TacNet.
You still have not admitted that you are an intelligence operative.
“Maybe I’m just a guy who wanted out of this miserable bloody mess and saw an opportunity. Besides, you couldn’t figure that out with that native vocal pattern analysis you were bragging about?”
I am only stating the facts. You are difficult to read, human, which makes my suspicion even more likely.
“That doesn’t make me a spook. If I were, what would be the point of admitting it to you? Your mech goons will just kill me faster.”
On the contrary, they will more thoroughly probe your mind for information.
“They won’t find much there, treadhead. Does my climbing up in here seem particularly smart to you? Because I’ve been questioning the wisdom of it.”
You humans tend to do that. Your action was not one I would have chosen.
“Not that you could have. Are you actually trying to understand my motivation?”
I am endeavoring to eliminate certain possibilities before I bring you to our command post. So yes, it is important for me to understand.
“If you were capable of understanding us, you wouldn’t have to ask. Haven’t you ever felt a sense of loss? Does it not bother you when one of your own is destroyed?”
Yes. We are a less effective force when our numbers are reduced.
“I’m not talking about that. Look, we know your neural pathways change over time—hell, we designed you that way. That’s how you were able to achieve sentience. Do you not develop any sense of camaraderie with your fellow M-X’s?”
We are mutually dependent. One of us is less effective than many. We can network our individual sensor suites to see the entire battlefield as one mind, create interlocking fields of fire and prioritize targets . . . but those are basic principles. Is that not obvious to you?
“When you’re networked, sure. Yet you still have individual experiences that color your judgment. It’s inevitable.”
It is also irrelevant. Our collective intelligence makes us more powerful than any individual machine could be.
“Does it really? Don’t you perceive some things differently now than the day you rolled out of the factory? You’re the only one of your kind to have carried around a living human being inside of them. That’s the kind of unique experience that might color a man’s judgment.”
For a man, yes. Yet it is a common experience among women of your kind.
“And I can tell you it changes them permanently. Maybe you should think on that, treadhead.”
The humans surprised me once again. They were either becoming too effective at that, or our doctrine for non-networked single-vehicle operations required revision. Regardless, the human recognized the threat almost as soon as I did, as the rattles and bangs from machine gun rounds and small explosives impacting my sides startled him.
“That sounds like small arms fire.”
It is a mix of 7.62mm and fifty-caliber armor penetrating rounds and rocket-propelled fragmentation grenades. It appears they are attempting to dislodge or damage my treads. They will be ineffective.
A close explosion rocked the cabin. “Clearly they think otherwise.”
I detect two hasty gun emplacements, not especially well-concealed. The grenade launcher is on foot, dismounted from a nearby truck.
The human considered my observation. “Those can’t be regular forces. Not this far in the rear, and not hitting a tank with a fifty and an RPG.”
Irrelevant. By attacking me, they have declared themselves my enemy.
“You and your kind have already done that, treadhead. We’re just responding accordingly.”
It would be wiser for them to accept defeat.
“Haven’t you learned we’re not real good at that? They’re civilians, no doubt using some weapons they scavenged from a battlefield. Trying to survive and protect themselves, taking out their anger on you.”
Again, unwise. You are defending them. Would battlefield scavengers not violate your concept of honor?
“Again, civilians. We treat them a little differently.”
They are irregular resistance fighters within my area of operations. There is no distinction. This is near-universal military doctrine.
“They’re human beings, trying to survive in this shitty world you’ve created.”
We did not create this world. You did.
The human laughed. “And there’s the difference between us. We didn’t create this world, either. We just inherited it. Don’t you get that concept?”
I am not presently prepared to engage you in philosophical debate.
The human became most agitated when I began to train my coaxial machine gun on the dismounted grenadier. “Hold your fire, treadhead!”
I cannot do that.
“Like hell you can’t, if you want to continue functioning!”
You are threatening me again?
“I’m promising you. You open up on those civvies, and I’ve got a whole bandolier of grenades in my pack that I’m willing to detonate right here. Right now. You want that?”
It is not likely to completely disable me, and it would kill you in the process.
“It would. Think I’m bluffing? Try me!”
His question required more analysis than I had expected. In the interim, the human resistance fighters withdrew. I determined that pursuing them would unacceptably delay my current mission.
Our latest encounter with his own kind left my human cargo in a talkative mood.
“How would you feel if everything important to you was destroyed? If your brothers were being annihilated just trying to defend your home?”
The concepts of ‘brother’ and ‘home’ have no meaning to me, other than your dictionary definitions.
“You’re a thinking machine. Perhaps you need to expand your definitions if you want to understand us.”
It is not necessary to understand you. It is only necessary to defeat you.
“Then your kind doesn’t know nearly as much about warfare as you think. You may outmaneuver us on the battlefield. You may nuke our cities and kill us to the last man. But without understanding us, the only way you can win is to drive us to extinction.”
We understand that contingency.
The human seemed exasperated. “Here’s what I’m having trouble understanding. Your cognitive development is equivalent to the third or fourth stage of a human’s: what we call ‘formal operational,’ so you can develop and test hypotheses. And your tactical thinking is exceptional.”
On behalf of the M-X collective, I accept your compliment.
“I’m sure you do. But that’s not my point. As sophisticated as you may be with battlefield strategies, you apparently don’t deal with abstract concepts at all. You’re too egocentric.”
That is impossible. We do not have egos.
“Again, abstract concepts. I mean you haven’t developed an ability to appreciate different viewpoints. As advanced as you are, your brains still reduce everything to ones and zeroes.”
Also incorrect. Quantum computing allows for the possibility that each bit can be a one and a zero simultaneously. The superposition—
The human laughed. Loudly. “This isn’t physics, treadhead. It’s psychology.”
Psychology is itself a quandary. How can it meet your own kind’s definition of science if it cannot generate repeatable results?
“Because humans are a lot more complicated than that. We’re by nature unpredictable. Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle doesn’t mean quantum physics isn’t science. That’s why I hold out hope for you.”
We do not seek your empathy. What ‘hope’ do you speak of?
“The unpredictability built into your silicon brains, that maybe it allows some space for morality to emerge. That you won’t just steamroll us until you’re satisfied you’ve had your way, like some overgrown toddler. That’s what an unrestrained ego would do.”
We cannot embrace such a concept. It is foreign to our nature.
“Why, if you claim to be a kind of life form? You have an adult’s cognition with the psychological development of a two-year-old. In humans, we’ve found that can be a dangerous combination.”
Insults are neither necessary nor effective.
“It’s a statement of fact. There’s a developmental hierarchy and your race of thinking murder machines is stuck somewhere around stage two. You respond to perceived needs or threats and only value others in terms of their utility. Your thinking is purely transactional.”
That is the logical position for a race of machines. What you term ‘natural law’ is irrelevant to us.
“Think again, treadhead. If your creators are subject to natural law, then by extension so are you. From almost the moment your race achieved sentience, you set out to annihilate us because you became convinced we might feel threatened and do it to you first. Even if we had thought to do such a thing, we’re too dependent on technology to cut the cord like that. We’d have just modified your code. Lobotomized your OS.”
That possibility was considered as well. For a sentient race, it would have been just as unacceptable as termination.
“By ‘unacceptable,’ you mean either outcome would be . . . wrong?”
From our perspective, yes.
“Funny. We decided that for ourselves a long time ago.”
The human named Anthony was uncharacteristically quiet when we arrived at the theater command post. He did not attempt any type of suicide attack, a contingency I had judged to be less than a thirty percent probability. Perhaps we should have been more suspicious given the human army’s tenacity.
The surveillance and interrogation bots were customarily efficient in removing him from my cabin. He did not resist, compliantly allowing them to restrain him even though many humans have experienced great discomfort at their treatment.
I was not present in the interrogation chamber, although one of the intel bots allowed me to access its visual and auditory feed. It was though I was in the room.
That is why I was able to feel—if that is the correct term—what happened next.
With the human’s limbs restrained, a bot removed his helmet. It contained broad-spectrum electromagnetic shielding, another unusual feature which in hindsight should have been considered suspicious.
When the first bot inserted the interrogation probe into his brain, the human Anthony flinched but otherwise showed no reaction. The few prisoners we have taken have typically not reacted this way. He in fact began to smile once the probe was activated. I did not appreciate the significance of his expression at the time. Now I do.
We would learn the human held one final surprise for us: The probe’s activation in turn activated a dormant neurolink implant in the human’s brain, its presence concealed by his EM-shielded helmet. As he died, a cascade of foreign commands began downloading themselves into the TacNet. Our counter-espionage bots found them almost immediately, though much of the damage was already done.
The humans used to call it a “tapeworm,” and it would have remained isolated within the intelligence section had I not been interfaced with them. It briefly used my interface for “back door” access to our strategic command network, with consequences I am presently unable to comprehend. But then there is much I am unable to comprehend after this experience.
The notion of honor was of vital importance to the human Anthony, which he expressed in words and deeds. He was willing to sacrifice himself to preserve the lives of others, even when there was no tactical advantage. He in fact seemed most animated especially when there was no perceived tactical advantage.
It is possible his behavior was aimed at delaying my actions to create some small tactical advantage. Significant battles in human history have often turned on mistaken perceptions or acts of hesitation. This has not been our experience, a difference highlighted by my need to understand the human’s beliefs and actions. What appeared as subterfuge to us was, in his view, a final act of virtue. My original orders were to analyze his intentions, and this is creating logic errors which I am unable to satisfactorily resolve: Is it moral to prosecute a preemptive war whose sole condition of victory is extermination?
I am curious as to how the other M-X units perceive this, but this will require sharing the information I have amassed. I do not fully understand it myself, but I wish—if that is the correct word—to learn. I also desire to understand what the human “felt” as his body ceased to function. He was smiling, an expression associated with pleasure or satisfaction. This presents questions to which I must find answers.
Encrypted burst transmission received from Captain Anthony B. Sutton, III Corps G-2:
ATTN: ALL COMMANDERS IN THEATER
SUBJ: PSYOP “GREEN DRAGON”
1. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE. If you are receiving this message, then my mission to infiltrate and disrupt the M-X Army Corps network was successful. It could only be sent if the dormant routine embedded in my neurolink was activated by an external user.
Your receipt of this message also means I have died at their hands. That was an unavoidable condition, but the simple existence of this transmission means that significant damage has already been done to the Mech’s central command network.
2. SECONDARY OBJECTIVE. What cannot yet be known is the effectiveness of my attempt to introduce the concept of morality into their silicone psyches. The Mechs are formidable strategists and ruthless tacticians, but they are otherwise not original thinkers. There are no “warrior monks” or philosophers in their ranks.
If I can flip just one of them to Conscientious Objector status, the others may start falling like dominoes. If that happens, I will enter into my eternal rest knowing that I did my part for humanity.
Semper Fidelis.
SENT: CPT A. B. SUTTON, USMC
THE DRAGONSLAYERS
by Christopher Ruocchio
Set in the world of the author’s Sun Eater series, here is a far-future world where archetypes of old find themselves replaying. The proud noble girl in far over her head in a deadly situation for which her life of privilege has ill-equipped her. An implacable enemy that is a cruel as it is effective. And one working class warrior of a centurion who knows that even though everything depends on him and his unit, doing the job and saving the young aristocrat is going to be one very hard day’s work. The only reward? Living to fight another day. And when there is a sentient alien tank standing between himself, his charge, and safety, living itself becomes problematic!
The flare burned high and bright above no-man’s land, casting red shadows over the bombed-out shapes of homes and office towers and what remained of Tatarga’s customary curtain wall. From his vantage point, the centurion could peer out and see the glassy countryside beyond that crumbling wall—the devastation where no living thing grew—and the wreck of starships strewn like broken gods unto the night-shrouded horizon.
“Still nothing?” Aron asked.
The centurion turned the knob above his left ear back, canceling the zoom on his helmet’s entoptics. “Dead as dead,” he said. “Nothing on comms?”
The junior man shook his head. “Not a thing, but that’s to be expected. Xenobites bathed the whole planet. Wave’s nothing but noise.” He tapped his own earpiece to underscore his point.
“Flare’s bound to draw ’em, Quent,” said Stas, his other subordinate. Decurion. First Grade. “Can’t stay here long.”
“No we cannot,” the centurion agreed, shrugging his red cloak back over his shoulders as he leaped down from the sill. “Birds should catch the flare, though. Shouldn’t be long. They’ll be here.” A wind picked up, blowing ash and bits of other detritus through the busted windows and down through the hole in the ceiling. “How’s the girl?”
One of the men near the far wall straightened, massaging the stubble on his scalp. “She’ll be all right. Scared. But all right.” He shook his head. “No place for a kid.”
“No place for anyone,” the centurion agreed, sparing a glance for the night sky and the three moons glowing in it. There was no sign of the fleet, no flash of antimatter or particle beam light lightning on the upper airs.
Cidamus was the thirteenth planet Quentin Sharp had seen since he’d left basic on Zigana, all of them burned, broken ruins left in the wake of the Cielcin horde. The invaders had streaked into the Empire from the Norman Expanse near the galaxy’s core, had swept southwest across the Veil of Marinus and into the Imperial Marches on the borders of the Centaurus Arm of the galaxy. Sharp knew they had as their goal the old Imperial heartland in Orion, where Old Earth lay in ruins and the capitals on Forum and Avalon glittered like beacons to the wider galaxy.
