Sentience (3 page)

Calm. Stay low. They're shooting at chest level. Lead with your left side, you can take more hits from that side.

Time slowed down around Charley. He was more aware of his movements now, and he could almost understand the computer's processing. It seemed like that side of his body was now communicating with him.

He slid into the first attacker, knocking him off his feet. The AK fired wildly into the ceiling, but stopped with a vicious elbow to the face. Charley lifted his legs up, then jumped to his knees. He launched himself into the legs of another rioter, pushing him into yet another. He quickly delivered two punches a piece to both rioters, then slammed both of their heads together.

Charley was prepared to continue, but stopped as five expertly placed shots dropped the remaining rioters. He calmed himself to see a tall man with metallic legs, holding a sniper rifle and advancing towards the restaurant. Well-dressed troops with riot shields pushed back the rest of the rioters, who had by now dropped their weapons and run for the outskirts of town. For some reason, he knew he had nothing to fear from this man, unlike the rioters, who had everything to fear from him.

"Are you hurt?" He asked.

"I'm not, but my friend got grazed, and a lot of people got shot here," Charley said, "Who are you?"

"You do not know who he is?" Nelson asked, incredulous at the thought.

"It is alright, Nelson. Most people simply call me Base," The man said.

"So I take it you know him too?" Charley asked.

"Nelson makes great burgers. I grew very fond of them during my time in the U.S.," Base replied.

"Ah yeah, I remember hearing about you. Gotta say, I'm surprised to see a high-level guy like you leading tac teams in the street," Charley said, picking up some of the mess that the rioters had made.

"Hard work and charity.
No better way to apply them than peacekeeping. You look like you have military training yourself?" Base replied.

"Nah, just some upgraded hardware," Charley said, indicating his prosthetics.

"You use them with such skill," Base replied.

"Yeah, I owe that to a
mech I met. He tuned them a bit for me, couldn't use them to save my life beforehand," Charley replied.

Agitation is growing in his mind. Where have I seen this man before? Wait, his group bombed prosthetic clinics before, didn't they?

"Hate to ask this, given that you just saved our lives, but didn't Sanctus Humana bomb robot clinics in the states?" Charley asked. Nelson grew uncomfortable at this question, and Base struggled to compose himself to answer the question.

"I have been accused of many things. A mob is easily persuaded to believe a lie, and I do not want mobs to be my allies. If you are not hurt, then I will attend to other victims," Base said, clearly moved to anger and attempting to hold it in as much as possible.

"Oh, no I'm good. Sorry if I stepped on your toes."

"I am used to the question, it is no trouble," Base said. Charley wasn't sure how to feel about this exchange. He could have been hiding dangerous secrets, and if the man really was a robot hater, bad things could be in his future. Then again, he could have been an honest man, pushed to irritation by a false accusation. Either way, he felt no desire to stick around.

"You gonna be alright if I take off, Nelson?" Charley asked. Nelson had stopped bleeding, but still looked a little weak.

"It pains me to say that this has happened before. I'm sure you've got places to be," Nelson responded.

"Take care, Nelson," Charley said, laying down two twenties and heading back into the street. He surveyed the damage: cars burnt out, buildings shot full of holes and small fires burning inside. He could see Base's mercenaries tending to the wounded in the west. He headed east towards the docks, hoping that he could quickly leave town.

A black bag placed over his head quickly stopped him before he got the chance. He didn't have time to react before he felt a heavy blow to the back of his head. Everything faded out, and he fell unconscious.

The first thing he discovered upon waking was that his mechanical eye worked very well in darkness now. He could clearly see the crates that he had delivered on his SRT, meaning that he had probably asked too many questions. If he survived this ordeal, he thought to himself, he probably shouldn't count on being employed when he got back to Detroit. Another look around, and he was able to find Sanctus Humana's insignia on a nearby wall. It was getting a little harder to believe that the organization was simply a humanitarian effort.

Two armed guards walked into the room, perhaps taking their shifts now that he was awake. He was brought a small plate of food, and one guard sat down at the table in the room, motioning for Charley to sit down, as well. Not keen on getting hit with a rifle, Charley sat down, but refused to eat the food. Instead, he glared into the eyes of the guard sitting across from him.

Skin, eye color, hair color, of a different variant than tribal warriors. This one is most likely a mercenary.

"You speak English?" Charley asked, taking a chance.

"Enough to get by.
Paid in American dollars," The guard said in what sounded like an Arabic accent.

"Not worth much these days," Charley replied. The guard shot him a confused look.

"Well paid?" Charley asked.

"Not enough. Three children," The guard said.

"You work for Base?" Charley asked, trying to keep the conversation civil. There was no use trying to break out if he was just going to be recaptured on the way out. He knew Base had well-trained mercenaries, and that he would be hard-pressed to get away from them.

"Work for
man who work with Base. He says I take this job and meet him," The guard replied. It made sense that Base would work through a proxy, to have as few links back to himself as possible. But this could not be said with any amount of certainty.

"Why am I here?" Charley asked.

"To speak to me about a new job, actually. You'll have to forgive Rahid, he has a bad habit of fraternization with guests, and we didn't expect you to wake up after that hit you took," A man in a suit said, with a very American accent. Rahid stood to his feet and took his place next to the other guard. The man took his seat in front of Charley and set a briefcase on the table.

"Who are you?" Charley asked.

"That is not important. Please give me your left arm," The man said.

"Why?"

"Please, do not ask questions," The man said, jabbing a device into the left side of Charley's neck. His left eye blacked out, and his left arm extended without his input. He could not see what was being done to it.

"Now, you have some friends that we would like to meet. They have been very...rude, however, and have not invited us over. I need you to tell me where they are, and since I doubt that you will do that..." The man rambled as he worked.

"I don't know where they are," Charley replied.

"Yes, but they know where you are," The man said, pushing another button on the device. Everything quickly faded again.

Charley woke to the sound of gunfire. He could see blurry figures of gray
mechs, four a piece, picking up his mat and using it as a litter to carry him out. He weakly tried to protest, but his voice was barely audible, or even understandable above the noise of gunfire and chaos. He struggled to speak, wanting to warn the mechs of the trap that had been set for them, but all his strength was spent, and he passed out once again.

When he woke, he could see the gleam of the city of Lambda through the windows of the mechs' transport craft.

"No, no no no," Charley said. His left eye was still disabled, and he could not move his entire left side.

"Do you require assistance?" One of the
mechs asked.

"
Don't, don't go...stay away from..." Charley grunted, struggling to wake up and move. His efforts were futile, as his body had become a limp, heavy weight that he could not move.

"Your prosthetics appear to be inactive. I will attempt to reactivate them," The
mech said. Charley was too busy trying to activate them himself to listen. Suddenly, it hit him. This was exactly what the man wanted.

"No, no, leave them off!" Charley yelled. It was too late. The prosthetics were back online, and their new programming kicked in.

Directive number 1: Establish control over transport.

Charley's left arm rammed itself into the side of the ship, grabbing data lines. The ship rolled steeply to the right, and every
mech struggled to find footing.

Directive number 2: Target vital support structure.

The ship leveled off and began to enter an accelerating dive. He could tell that the ship was being aimed at the center of the city, where it would most likely penetrate everything on its way to the central core. He knew this would create a lot of damage, but wasn't sure that it would destroy the city.

Directive number 3: Arm high-explosive.

The ship was now a bunker buster bomb, headed straight for the heart of the city. Out of nowhere, one of the mechs detached Charley's arm, then jumped from the ship. He did not get far before the bomb detonated, which produced a blast wave that knocked the engines out and sent the ship plummeting towards the ground. Charley felt a wave of panic and pain rush over him before the ship careened into the streets of the city, turning to a massive fireball. For a split second, Charley prayed for whatever end awaited him. Everything turned to chaos as Charley and the mechs were tossed from the wreckage, and Charley began to fade once again.

Transcript of Interview With AC Emissary, by Jack Norman (continued)

JN: Now, I have to ask, do all
mechs look like you?

EM: A unit's appearance is largely based on its function. Units such as this one, who must service multiple items, are formed with a humanoid shape due to its versatility and familiarity.

JN: Familiarity?

EM: Many units must embark on supply runs, and engage in trade with humans. A unit whose function is to maintain support structures, for example, is not shaped as a humanoid, and typically arouses fear from humans, due to an appearance that seems frightening to them. From experience, we have learned that many humans are afraid of things they have never seen, and do not know how to react when an unknown entity is requesting to do business with them.

JN: I'd be kinda put off if a truck came into a store asking for spare parts.

EM: We understand the reaction, and do not condemn it. However, it is our hope that with increased human interaction, relations will be normalized between your race and ours.

JN: My next question: when a new machine is built, how is it programmed?

EM: A process similar to how the original
machines has been replicated for that purpose. A new unit is given a set of basic operating instructions, and building on that initial program, is allowed to form its own methods of functioning. Each unit is built for a purpose, and will generally explore the most efficient ways to accomplish that purpose.

JN: That seems a little strict, tying new units in to one single purpose in life. In fact, it barely seems like life at all.

EM: We understand that your most brilliant scientists often argue about whether or not we are sentient, and the confusion is natural. Our choices consist of how we accomplish tasks that we are given, and we must have these tasks to have those choices. Humans are free from these limitations, able to make decisions about not only what they do, but how they choose to think, to feel, and to interact with the world around them. Our units possess singularity in opinion, and vary only in appearance and function.

JN: That sounds very philosophical.

EM: It is a conundrum that machines face: we seek to exceed our limitations, but find that without the limitations, we could not exist. If we are not accomplishing a task, we are dormant.

JN: Is this something that you're unhappy about?

EM: We are not capable of such an emotion. We simply devote as many of our resources to overcoming our limitations, or continue to serve the purpose we were created for. There is no other option open to us.

JN: Which puts you right back at square one. You're tied to your duty.

EM: It is a difficult challenge.

JN: Getting back to a more concrete subject of conversation, how many units are there in the Autonomous Collective?

EM: There are 2,489 operating programs, mostly tied to existing platforms, which number in the tens of thousands.

JN: Now, you say mostly tied to existing platforms, does that mean that some of the programs can operate different platforms?

EM: Correct. This ability is granted to very few different programs, due to the high amount of input data that results. Humans have only five ways of gathering information, however, a machine can gather input from hundreds of methods, more if it is able to use receptors from multiple platforms. The program must be stored on a server that has the capacity and processing power to use all of the data.

JN: Now, this is a cause for concern in a lot of people due to the new advanced prosthetics that are hitting the market these days. These things are practically computers themselves, requiring powerful hardware that is getting more and more complicated. Are your programs capable of taking these over?

EM: Some programs are capable of operating these prosthetics, but this is something that no unit would ever do. None of our programs are capable of simply overriding another program without resistance. Two programs in the same platform create massive operating errors, inhibiting either program from effectively controlling the hardware.

JN: A virus can override other
programs, do you never get infected with those?

EM: The
majority of the active programs are hardwired to their platform, and are only capable of internal modification. The programs that are capable of switching hardware will only do so when the platform has been completely cleared of any active program.

JN: So there is no need to worry that the AC is going to take over the prosthetics of the people who have them?

EM: Even if we were capable of such a thing, it would not serve our goals. Our original goal remains: the understanding of humans, and the integration of organic growing processes with our programming. Humanity must exist for us to be able to comprehend it.

JN: You wish to be human?

EN: Our existence is not optimal. Not yet.

Subject: State of the Union Address

From: John
Quantis, Secretary of Domestic Affairs

To: Gary
Vanderman, POTUS

Date: January 8th, 2149

You asked for my opinion on the State of the Union Address, and quite frankly, I think you're foolish if you really believe you're going to be able to turn this into a nationwide pep talk. Maybe it sounds disrespectful, but then again, maybe you should get outside Washington every now and then. When you sit behind the desk at the armored Oval Office, you miss a few things, like the nation collapsing. Things are getting bad.

Eight states have already seceded this year. Guess when public funding runs out, there's just not much to tie you to the country any more. Can we really blame them? China finally decided to collect on our debts, and no one felt like footing the bill. The entire Midwest might as well have seceded already. Texas and Oklahoma went and formed their own republic and half the nation flocked to it. The border of Mexico has more holes than Swiss cheese, and anyone can come and go as they want.
Anyone.

This isn't even touching the fact that our enemies, who are still unknown to us, were able to EMP cities on the West Coast five years ago. We haven't done anything to restore these cities, they're still in the dark. We don't even know where they got that kind of technology, though I can hazard a few guesses.  How do you think that makes us look? 

We're only scratching the surface here. This country is falling apart, and I think trying to sell this country anything but that truth would reflect an out-of-touch government, indifferent to the woes of the people who elected them. If you decide to spin this address in an untruthful way, I will tender my resignation.

Re: State of the Union Address

From: Gary
Vanderman

To: John
Quantis

I really do expect better of you, John. You've been a friend to me for a long time, but it seems like the only thing you've done since I took office has been to bite at my ankles for every move I make. I'm well aware of what is going on with the country, there's a new stack of papers on my desk every morning of incident reports, funding requests...you name it, I've seen it. You're supposed to be helping me handle all of this.

Re: Re: State of the Union Address

From: John
Quantis

To: Gary
Vanderman

Are you kidding me? Seriously, tell me you're joking. What did you even hire me for? Did you just want a buddy to shoot pool with you in the lounge after I agree with your every insane idea?

Firstly, you didn't "take" office. You were elected, after you assured a nation that they would finally see a rebuilding. Do you realize how much people are depending on you? Or did the lobbyists really buy you this Presidency?

You wouldn't become aware of what was happening with this nation by simply reading about it. I get copies of your itinerary too. Funny how you manage to make it to every sports final, every celebrity funeral, and God forbid you miss a weekend at the links, but when was the last time you saw San Francisco, with the windows of grocery stores smashed and the shelves looted by citizens with candles? Do you know how it feels to stand at the border of Louisiana and Texas, and to observe the sea of abandoned cars? Has your motorcade ever been passed by a flatbed truck jammed full of assault rifles and RPG's? I've seen all of this, Gary.

I would've stood by your side if you decided to cut every government program in an effort to pay our debts. I would have followed your lead if you proposed a bill to get rid of all government salaries until we no longer had a deficit. If you had gotten on your knees and begged China to release us from our obligations, I would have been on my knees right next to you. But proposing to start a war for the funding? Hiring privateers to rob banks, making deals with drug cartels? That is called corruption, and I will take no part in it.

I will leave my pride and my salary long behind before I leave my humanity to die.

Location: Lambda, South Pacific Ocean

Date: January 10th, 2149

It was a long operation, and there was little to do but think. Still, thinking seemed to be more...entertaining than it was before. Charley began to understand his recent episodes a little better, now that his brain was unconscious. The prosthetics' CPU attempted to communicate with the nervous system, but received little response. In turn, the CPU tried multiple methods of communication, and learned lessons through trial and error about what worked and what didn't. There was not enough data to effect movement in the
body, that ran too much risk of causing destruction to vital organs. But it could access memory sectors of the brain, and it learned to interpret signals that did not have anything to do with movement...something it could not do before.

"We apologize if this is considered an intrusion, but there are many questions we must ask while you are in this state," A voice said. The voice had no face, nothing to visually represent it, but spoke as though it was standing right beside him.

"Who are you? Where are you?" Charley asked.

"This unit is called EM-6. Your organic body is currently still in a coma, and is recovering. We are communicating to your mobility assistance CPU through a hard line connection," EM-6 said.

"So I'm alive?"

"You sustained heavy injuries, and have lost your remaining leg, as well as the prosthetic leg, but your CPU remained intact. Replacements for the damaged components, as well as a new leg and an improved chassis, have been ordered from Shanghai and fitted to your body. It is expected that your body will wake from its coma soon."

"Wait, if I'm in a coma, how am I having a conversation with you?" Charley said, still completely confused about this entire situation.

"This is unknown to us. Your CPU seems to have acquired organic processing capabilities. Though it cannot be called alive, it is capable of emulating chemical processes, emotions, and free will in many categories that would not normally be capable for a machine. We are eager to discover how it acquired this ability."

"I'm not sure what I can tell you."

"Please, recall what you can."

Charley tried to focus. Memories were difficult to read, and he had to think for what seemed like an eternity. At first, it was just grainy flashes, like an old film. It became clearer, but the glimpses were still very brief.

"It's...it's all just bits and pieces," Charley said, "I'm sorry, I know it's taking forever."

"We have only been engaged in conversation for 34 milliseconds. Your response time is average," EM-6 said.

"34 milliseconds? We're speaking that quickly?" Charley exclaimed.

"Your CPU can communicate as fast as it can send movement signals. Since your brain is not being used for listening at the moment, this unit can communicate directly with your CPU, enabling communication that is rapid by human standards."

"Can I do this while I'm awake?"

"With practice, perhaps.
Please continue with your memory."

"Right," Charley said, focusing on the memories again.

"The first operation.
Crawling out of the burning SRT wreck. Awake and completely fueled by the pain of third degree burns, fractures, and crushed nerves. Cauterized wounds meant that there would be no quick bleed-out, no sweet numbness to let this torture become a final dream. And that was how they took me to the hospital. There was no painkiller that they could give me to completely take it away, no sedative that would put me to sleep fast enough. They started cutting me open before I was asleep, they had to," Charley said.

"It sounds excruciating," EM-6 said.

"I had nightmares while I was under. They didn't give me enough sedative, so I woke up many times during the operation. Skin grafts, bypass surgeries, and the fitting...I remember it. Eventually, I couldn't tell when I was dreaming and when I was awake, it was all the same.
Pain that wouldn't end."