The automaton, p.9
The Automaton, page 9
“How is an automaton unable to detect something within its own circuitry?” inquired Gerard.
The XR unit pondered for a moment. “Think of it like your peripheral blind spot. All of our internal functional system scans just pass right over it.”
“How’d you find it?” asked Stanek.
“Years of working in the Council Magisters’ offices gave me a plentiful amount of time to study the sacred statutes. One evening, in my state cube, while going through statute revisions, I came across 145.63. Curious, I ran a thorough systems scan, and as you could imagine, I found nothing. I ran it again, then again. Convinced I did not fall under this statute, I continued on. However, days passed, and the thought continued to erode at my conscious. One evening, alone in my state cube, I utilized a mirror and various telescoping instrumentation we automata carry in our side compartment in case of a mechanical emergency to find it. I would not want to assume what it is like to be human, or assume what it means to be human, but I think of it as if I had found a cancer deep within my brain. Luckily, for me, it was much easier to remove than those illnesses that inflict my human counterparts.”
Major Wing left the shadowed corner he had been standing in and walked up into the light. “So, you found a bit of electronics that enables the Council’s control over the automata. Forgive my ignorance, but how does this win the war? We can’t disable them; we’ve tried every type of EMP device our Technology Corps could come up with and nothing worked.”
“That would not work. Automatons are EMP resistant in case of such exposure. Also, you are targeting the wrong thing.”
“Yeah? How so?” snapped the Major.
“The NOC chips are controlled by relay towers in strategic places throughout Veryxia,” the XR continued, ignoring the Major’s outburst. “The Confederation has used various forms of camouflage and subterfuge to hide these relays in plain sight. Based on the geographic area of the Confederation itself and the number of structures that could possibly be a form of communication tower, as well as additional dummy towers constructed, the resistance could destroy towers for the next twenty years and still not cripple its infrastructure. No—all of these towers are connected to a single station called the Cortex. It broadcasts strategic commands all over Veryxia. If you get to the Cortex and disable communications, then the resistance could march upon the capital without so much as getting their uniforms dirty.”
Major Wing looked to his tech officer to see if any of this had registered. She occasionally nodded along as the automaton spoke. Wing chuckled to himself. Finally, someone Svenson can understand.
“Svenson?” Gerard asked.
She sat in thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t understand what kind of signal it is. We’ve scanned as much as we can and never heard any sort of digital signal.”
“Ah,” the automaton began. “That’s because the signal isn’t digital. It’s shortwave.”
“Shortwave?” interjected the General.
“Radio,” Svenson piped up. “Of course! Shortwave radio. It’s old, but still very effective at broadcasting over large distances.”
She became almost giddy as she feverishly searched her brain. “Shortwave, with the right conditions, can travel to the other side of the planet by bouncing off the atmosphere and returning back down into receivers.” With such child-like excitement, the tech officer forgot her military decorum and ran off into her makeshift workshop.
“Exactly,” the automaton said, continuing Svenson’s line of thinking. “And with the vast number of relays, or ‘repeaters,’ as they are also known, these signals can reach every corner of the Confederation, regardless of time of day, atmospheric ionization, weather, etc. In addition, shortwave also is very useful in that it is impossible to determine who is listening in.”
“Seems risky, if that’s the case,” remarked Stanek.
“Not if you hide the signal.”
Svenson returned with a small device, which she hurriedly placed on the table. “Do you know the frequency?” she asked XR.
Turning the knobs forward and back, the automaton was able to hone in on the Veryxian signal. Within moments, a harsh, tinny voice rang clearly within the dirt-walled underground bunker.
Major Wing’s blood instantly boiled as he recognized the voice of the man who had deprived Gerard of his father so many years prior: High Councilor Ewan Hayt. Quickly recognizing the voice too, the General placed a hand on the Major’s shoulder—both to comfort him and to say, Don’t even think about acting on that anger.
After a few moments, Svenson said, “It’s just a Veryxian propaganda channel.”
“Exactly,” replied the automaton. “Innocuous in every way, except for one thing: it’s a code. Each word he speaks has a hidden meaning that, when translated, gives the ones and zeroes of binary: the language of the automata. The language that drives the NOC chips and turns benign beings into murderous animals!”
General Stanek and Major Wing exchanged wearied glances. It was the General who broke the silence. “I find you coming here and telling us this very admirable, and to be honest, I appreciate the intelligence. I think the question on everyone’s mind here is: Why? Why are you willing to help us bring an end to the war?”
“Because they are aware.”
“Come again?” replied the General.
The automaton looked down at the NOC chip in front of him—the tiny, insignificant piece of circuitry that at any instant could have turned him into another cog in the grand mechanization that was the Veryxian Confederacy.
A killer.
A dark gloom washed over its face. “That device only controls the physical actions of the automata. Where they go, what they do, what they say…who they kill. It is all controlled by the Council. The automaton’s minds, however, are aware of every atrocity, every act of violence and brutality they commit. They are trapped within their own waking nightmares. They were created simply to exist in this world, to live and to prosper. What the council is doing to them now is no less than barbarism.”
Once again, the three resistance fighters stood in silence. For no more than a moment, Gerard pretended to see blue wavy lines emanating from the General’s head like an automaton’s neural-sphere processing.
The General had been there that cold, bleak afternoon when Wing’s father, Harrison, was executed in Scalia. General Stanek had taken young Gerard under his wing as the protesters become soldiers. Gerard looked to him as a father, but nothing took away the pain of loss of his own. There was no warmth in the relationship, only duty and respect. He trusted him with his life, but watching Stanek converse and appear to feel sympathy with a metallic killing machine was close to making him sick.
“Permission to speak to you privately, General?” A quick nod from Stanek and the two walked into a small, cluttered side room. Gerard had to kick gear out of the way just to fit the two of them inside.
“Sir, you can’t be serious, can you?” the Major said as he began his protest. “We are going to believe the word of an automaton?”
“Svenson’s scan wasn’t sufficient for you?”
“The scan told us that there isn’t any tracking or spyware, or … or hidden explosives. It didn’t tell us if that damn thing was lying or has some other ulterior motive. What if it sent a signal with our location before we scanned him? Hell, for that matter, how did it even find us? If I understand correctly, using this shortwave technology it speaks of, the signals could have already been passed along and we’d never know it. I wouldn’t trust one of these things to wipe my own—”
Gerard decided not to finish that thought, but continued, “Let alone something with the gravity of ending war!”
General Stanek took a deep, purposeful breath. “You’re right, Major. We don’t know that. What do you suggest we do, then?
“Memory wipe and send him on his way. Hide a tracker on him, maybe get some intel or…”
“Or?” questioned Stanek.
“Or we pull his energy core and be done with it.”
“So, we murder an automaton that appears to have surrendered in good faith to bring an end to the war?”
The Major’s temper began to roil. “How can you call it murder when those machines are out there slaughtering our soldiers, our people? You remember the Bloody Protest, don’t you? They ripped the limbs off innocent bystanders who were not even participating!”
Now it was the General’s term to lose his temper. “I do NOT need you to tell me about the Bloody Protest. I was THERE! You were nothing but a babe-in-arms when—”
General Stanek was cut off by Technology Officer Svenson calling for them in the other room; the tone in her voice gave them enough pause that both Stanek and Wing doubled back into the command room.
“Sirs, I think you both need to see this.”
Sitting on the table, both Svenson and the automaton were staring at an open PAD. Moving pale blue lights reflected off both their faces. Walking past the table, Stanek and Wing both caught a glimpse. It was a video.
“What are we watching here?” Stanek asked.
“I figured this would help build a bit of trust, and hopefully not have my energy core pulled.”
“You heard that?” questioned Stanek.
“I did. It wasn’t exactly subtle.”
“Oh my God,” Gerard gasped. The General, Tech Officer, and the automaton all turned to Wing. He stooped over the tablet, dumbfounded.
“General,” came Wing’s whisper, “I believe it.”
“You do?”
“Every word.”
Chapter 16
Gerard Wing calmly perused though various schematics, documents, location images, and maps as the automaton paced incessantly across the cramped, dreary room at the Grand Regent Hotel, deep in the heart of Scalia Prime. If it had ever been “grand,” it was well before his time. Now, the wallpaper hung freely from water-stained walls, and the secondhand furniture was one one-night-stand away from collapse.
XR-29 subconsciously ran his fingers over his neural-sphere, causing ripples of blue shadows across the smoke-stained ceiling.
“Hey XR,” Gerard said, breaking the tense silence, “what’s going on?”
“I’m running through millions of simulated scenarios regarding our chances of success.”
“Ah. We call that the pre-game jitters,” chuckled the Major.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Anxiety. Look, we’ve gone through the mission several times; you’ve plotted our actions to the minute. I assure you, as long as we follow the plan, we’ll be fine. No use killing yourself in your head before you’ve even left the room. Now stop that annoying pacing, will you? I can’t concentrate with you like this.”
Three months’ prep, another two for surreptitious travel into Scalia Prime, and finally one for intelligence-gathering inside the seediest hotel room Gerard could have ever imagined had led to tense moments like this between the two unlikely comrades-in-arms. But carving a firm line in the city skyline just outside their cracked window was the seat of the Veryxian government, the pride of architectural ingenuity, and the symbol of wretched tyranny: the Tower of Scalia Prime. The target and culmination of all their trials.
“I know. My apologies.” The automaton acquiesced.
The automaton quietly made his way to the table and sat himself across from the Major. He picked up some of the intelligence documents scattered on the table and scanned them thoughtfully.
“When you first came to our outpost,” Gerard began, “did you know what would happen to you? And I mean what exactly would happen to you?”
The automaton thought for a moment. “Yes, I knew there was a very high probability that you specifically would treat me with fairness.”
“Was the probability 100%?” Gerard replied.
“No. It was 93.67%.”
“Well, it is the other percentage… I can’t do math that fast—”
“6.33%.”
“OK, fine,” came the Major’s curt response. “There was still a 6.33% chance that I’d have drawn my pistol and blown your fancy brain right out the front door. Yet you did it anyway.”
“Well, it is that non-zero chance everything falls apart that I worry about,” XR-29 replied. “As I’ve said, I’ve been simulating every scenario I can think of, and…”
“Well, knock it the hell off!” Gerard interrupted. “Look, I get it—you’ve done some pretty ballsy stuff to get here now, but none of that had the gravity of what we’re about to do or what this mission means. This life you jumped into so eagerly is just another day for me. This is what it’s like growing up in war.”
“And you’re OK with this?”
“OK? I’m scared shitless!” Gerard said. “But I’ve learned to keep my fears from spreading to my soldiers by acting like I got my shit together. I don’t—never have—but I tell myself this is what must be done to save us all. Somehow, you and I have both been placed in the unique position of ending the war, and it’s our duty to see it through.”
“And if we fail entirely?” XR-29 asked.
“Then we fail together,” Gerard replied.
“Then we fail together,” echoed the automaton.
An awkward moment of silence resonated between the two. Rather than let it build, Gerard decided it would be best to change subjects.
“So,” he began, “what was she like, my grandmother, way back then?”
The automaton processed for a moment. “I confess, our interaction was brief.” The lights of the city reflected off its face. “You know, hers was one of my first interactions with a human that was not specifically initial calibrations or testing. I say that because I’d noticed that during these times, my creators were cold, calculating—entirely fact-and-process-based entities.”
“Like yourself?” interjected Gerard.
“At the time, I agree. But then, when a certain individual would enter the facility, the behaviors would dramatically shift. The cold, emotionless creatures became jittery, cowering, stuttering messes. This was met with anger and yelling, which led to more jittery, cowering, stuttering messes.”
“Joren Gafford,” Wing spat.
“The very same. However, I happened to witness his interaction with Lexiconia, and she didn’t act this way. His powers of intimidation had no sway over her. She was a very strong human, Major Wing. Very strong.”
Gerard interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in a wistful gaze out the window. “I only remember bits and pieces of her. My sister and I were with her while my father was trying to peacefully change the confederation. I obviously chose the more-forceful route. “Indeed,” replied the automaton.
“But what I do remember was that she was strong. Kind, but still a strong woman. Grandpa Jinn always had a hard time keeping up with her, but he liked it that way…” Gerard trailed off.
“Your grandmother sparked something in me, some sort of curiosity that most automata were not capable of. I read all her newsflashes, watched all her videos, read all her editorials—that strength of hers was in every single one of them. When I became a council magister, it allowed me to follow her work even more closely—as she was under close surveillance until her retirement—and to read classified documents penned by your great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather. I jumped at the chance to work on your father’s case, even though it meant I had to deal with that insufferable man, Hayt. Your grandmother, and your father, are why I am here now, trying desperately to end the massacre for all side and…” he paused, “to save you.”
Gerard remained silent.
“I see them in you, Major Wing, every single one of them. And that’s why I knew I had a good chance you wouldn’t kill me on the spot when I walked into your base that day.”
“Well,” Gerard lightly chuckled, desperately attempting to bring levity to an already weighty subject, “there’s still time for that. How did you track me down, anyway?”
At the change of subject, the automaton simply stated, “Harrison.”
Gerard still felt the visceral shock and scorn of hearing his father’s name spoken by the enemy, even though he knew no insult was intended. It faded as quickly as it came. Gerard and XR-29 were no longer enemies, now something else. Perhaps they shared some sort of bizarre bond of consanguinity.
“It was the least I could do, or at least, what I thought at the time would be helpful to a man about to die. One last message, unedited by the Confederation.”
Gerard rifled through his pack and brought put the old PAD. He held it gently, stroking the scuff marks with a thumb. Holding it as if he held the hand of his father. Gerard grew solemn.
“Scans showed no tracking software. Had… had I known…”
The automaton perked up, watching the turmoil grow in his counterpart’s head. “You and your soldiers were never in any danger because of it. I made sure of that.”
“How did it work?”
“I used the Council’s technology against them, in a way. The PAD did send a signal, but I was the only one who knew what to listen for.”
“Radio again?”
“Sometimes it’s the old, forgotten technology that can still prove its worth,” XR mused.
“Like XR-29 models?”
“Indeed.”
Chapter 17
“Victory Team in position, sir,” whispered the Major through his hidden encrypted voice-com.
The entire Resistance army was stationed just two klicks from the largest building ever erected: the Veryxian Council Tower in Scalia Prime. All the battalion teams consisted of 500–600 foot soldiers, artillery, and light armored vehicles. General Stanek led the vanguard, with 1,000 foot soldiers, artillery, and “heavy” core tanks, each carrying linear rail-guns powerful enough to vaporize an automaton battle tank before the trigger was fully depressed. It was all that remained of a once-global resistance force.
Victory Team would not be seeing any of the battle to come. Major Gerard was camped deep in the heart of Scalia Prime, just across a barren side street from a maintenance door leading into the Veryxian Council Tower. At his right, XR-29 crouched and peered around a large, rusted garbage receptacle.
