The Great Destroyer (15 page)

“Shit,” Jackson said as he watched technicians trying everything they could think of to regain contact with the satellite. 

Yazov muttered some imprecation in his ancestral Russian.  “How long until another satellite is in range?”

“73 minutes,” the chief communications technician answered.  “We still don’t have as much satellite coverage over the southern hemisphere as the northern.”

“What the hell is going to happen in the interim?” Jackson asked rhetorically, then realized that one of the people best able to answer was in the room with them.  “Dmitry, what will the Charlies do?”

As one of the chief programmers, Peskov had a far more detailed understanding of the Charlies’ operating instructions than Jackson or Yazov.  The thin Russian adjusted his glasses and said, “The last thing we ordered was protection mode.  They are protecting the Arcani and, failing that, they will continue to hold their position at any cost.”

Yazov asked furiously, “Why would they do that?  We gave no such order for them to stand and die in position!”

“Th-th-that is the default secondary objective established in the protection subroutine,” Peskov said timidly, shaken by his co-worker’s anger.  “The logic was that if they’re supposed to be protecting someone, they should keep guarding them even after they are wounded or killed.”

Yazov pounded his thick fist on one of the technicians’ wooden desks, actually cracking the timber slightly.  “They’re going to be overrun when the Ushah attack unless we order them to change operational patterns.  How can we reestablish communications with them?”

No one spoke for a few moments, then Peskov said hesitantly, “The Charlies only respond to calls made over authenticated Terran Alliance communication channels.  The TA hasn’t conducted large-scale mobile operations in the field in centuries.  The only authenticated channels we can access are the satellite systems or the short-wave radios that the Charlies use to communicate with each other.”

Jackson prompted, “The satellites are out, so how do we get on the short-wave radios?”

Peskov shook his head, “We don’t have any transmitters with enough range.  The Arcani have the right equipment, but the Charlies won’t listen to Arcani commands without authentication from a Project Charlie official.”

“So we call the Arcani headquarters in Mozambique, and get them to retransmit for us,” Jackson stated.

“It’s not that easy.  There’s no way for them to retransmit our phone signal,” Peskov said.

“Can’t they just put the phone up to the radio?” Yazov asked.

Peskov considered the idea and laughed nervously.  “We’ll make an engineer out of you yet, Viktor.  That might work if we get a clear signal to them and their short-wave signal is clear.”

“Do it,” Yazov ordered.

As Peskov ran to a phone to get in contact with the Arcani headquarters in Mozambique, Luke said, “Professor Jackson, Mr. Yazov, you may want to listen to this.”  He indicated a television showing a video feed from one of the news networks. 

The technician activated the room’s speakers, and a newscaster’s voice filled the room.  “—appears to be some kind of disturbance in the jungle.  We are now about a mile away from the beach, and we can hear loud gunfire and crashes.”

The TV showed a video feed apparently coming from a small drone the news crew was flying over the jungle.  From the sky, it was clear that an attack was underway.  Though the Ushah blended in well with the foliage, the impact of grenades and the pop of the Ushah rail guns told the tale plainly.  Thirty or forty Ushah soldiers had pushed out of the southern side of the perimeter, and they had evidently quickly killed or driven off the twenty or so Arcani who had occupied that part of the line.

Yazov cursed and roared, “Peskov!  How long until the Arcani can patch us through?”

“I’m working on it,” his friend replied nervously.  “I’m having trouble getting someone at Arcani headquarters to answer the damn phone.”

“Keep trying,” Yazov growled.  He looked at the video and said, “The goddamn Arcani aren’t moving to support their comrades under attack.  If they don’t move, neither will the Charlies.”

“What can we expect,” Jackson said, “they don’t have any weapons.”

Through a thin patch of foliage, the camera on the drone saw two Ushah soldiers fall to the ground with large bullet holes through their heads.  Then a series of explosions rocked the area to their south, and the gunfire from that sector ceased.

“They got both of the Charlies down there,” Yazov said angrily.  “Peskov!”

The thin Russian didn’t even bother to cover up the receiver on the phone.  “I’m talking to the janitor at the Arcani headquarters, he’s finding the right person to talk to.

“Tell him if he takes another few minutes, there won’t be any reason to hurry,” Yazov said.

The room watched helplessly as the battle moved from the southern tip of the perimeter northward, the Ushah rolling up the defensive perimeter.

“How can the news crew be streaming this video without the satellite?” Jackson asked loudly.

A technician answered, “Civilian data connections are separate from the TA satellites.  The bigger news agencies have their own satellites up there.”

“Wonderful.  Remind me to invest in the goddamn Global News Network,” Jackson said.

The microphone on the drone picked up the thunderclap of the Charlies’ Gram rifles, and more Ushah fell as they moved from position to position.  Ushah soldiers came from the beachhead to reinforce the attack, and another section of the line collapsed as the Charlies in that sector were overwhelmed by attackers.

The situation continued to deteriorate for several minutes, and Jackson was about to start screaming at Peskov when the programmer shouted, “Alright, they’re connecting us to the Charlie command circuit.  Viktor, you’re on speaker, start talking!”

Yazov shouted, “All Charlies, report status.”

Only six of the fifteen Charlies in the area responded.  “We need to pull back the forces we have left,” Jackson said.  “Six Charlies can’t hold off that many Ushah, and we can’t afford to have all our forces in the area wiped out.  We may need them to slow down the Ushah advance.”

“What about the Arcani?” Peskov asked.  “Aren’t some of them probably still in the area?” 

Yazov and Jackson’s eyes met.  Jackson was sure that they were both thinking the same thing:
We can get more Arcani.  It will take time to rebuild the Charlies. 

Finally, Jackson said, “Tell them they have one minute to start running, then all the remaining Charlies are pulling out.”

Peskov relayed the command, and then an agonizing minute passed by as one more Charlie was shot first in his right leg, then his right arm.  All the while, he kept up fire on the Ushah dropping another two of the attackers before a rail gun shot took off his head, silencing him permanently.

Jackson saw that Yazov’s eyes were glued to the clock in the corner, watching the seconds tick by on the digital display.  When 58 seconds had elapsed, he shouted, “All Charlies, converge on sector BZ 349.” 

That position was five miles behind the line, Jackson knew.  Certainly far enough that the Ushah couldn’t possibly pursue.

The Charlies acknowledged the orders and started the retreat, running quickly through the dark night.

Ten or so Ushah began a pursuit, but it was quickly apparent that they had no hope of catching up to the Charlies.  They gave up and returned back to the new perimeter beyond the beachhead.

“Why aren’t they pursuing the Arcani?” Peskov asked.

Jackson was about to answer when Yazov said bitterly.  “There are a billion people on this planet.  A few Arcani more or less will make no difference to them.  The Charlies, ah, now there is a fleeing target worth pursuing, if it were possible.  That one Charlie we lost giving the Arcani time to retreat was worth a thousand Arcani.  More, probably.  After all, there are only 20 Charlies left now.”

Chapter 24: Takagawa

The remains of Charlie III-5 and Charlie III-6 were flown into Houston in two nondescript metal crates three days after the Battle of the Tunnel.  The remnants of the other Charlies from the Battle of the Beach had been overrun by the enemy and would never be returned to Houston. 

Takagawa knew it was irrational, but she thought she’d feel better if they could be brought back to the lab where they’d been created one last time.  Though it would make no difference to the destroyed robots, Takagawa decided she would honor their memory by ensuring that their comrades received an honorable return home.

The Japanese roboticist had announced that she would lead a delegation of Project Charlie employees to witness the delivery of Charlies III-5 and 6.  Most of the employees chose to come.  The flight ran into headwinds coming into North America, however, and so they were left to wait an hour at the airport. 

They crowded the arrival terminal very late, and Takagawa found herself looking out at the murky night sky.  It would be early daytime in Mozambique, she knew, where 15 of the remaining 20 Charlies were trying to keep a lid on five thousand Ushah who were busily establishing a colony and pushing back their boundaries.

Takagawa had pressed Flower to allow the Charlies to take revenge for the Arcani and Charlies killed at the beachhead, but the First Representative had listened instead to the counsel of Safety Minister Redfeather.  Redfeather stressed the need to avoid another confrontation between the Charlies and Ushah soldiers. 
And so
, Emma thought morbidly,
the Ushah will continue to press, thinking there was barely any price to pay for further expansion.

“Don’t worry, Professor Takagawa,” Yazov said, startling her.  “We have learned from this debacle.  From now on, we will have multiple communications systems maintaining contact with the Charlies in the field.  And we will never again make the default back-up strategy for the Charlies defending a static position.  Our boys are smart.  Next time, they’ll respond more fluidly to a sudden attack, even if they aren’t in contact with us.  One thing I’ve learned about the Charlies: you can’t fool them twice with the same trick.”

The Japanese roboticist shook her head, too tired to pretend she wasn’t worried about the Charlies still in the field.  “They’re smart, but not smart enough yet.  The Ushah figured out how to cut their puppet strings once, they’ll do it again.”

Yazov grimaced.  “Perhaps.  Casualties in war are inevitable, however.  The most we can do is make sure they have the best odds possible of winning.”

Takagawa said with a glint of determination, “There must be more we can do.”

A voice behind her said, “Grant them free will.”  Emma turned to see Peskov standing a few feet away, a gleam in his eye.  “Allow them to fully decide their operational parameters and objectives.  With a little additional development, their central processor will be able to identify and associate abstract ideas.  Loyalty to their comrades, dedication to the defeat of the Ushah, desire to protect humanity—we can program those values into them and trust in their judgment to tailor their actions in support of those values.”

Her fatigued mind racing, Takagawa considered the idea.  It was not as if she hadn’t seen where Project Charlie was heading.  She had watched the video of Charlie III-6 carrying Charlie III-5 to the objective. 

Even with the existing programming, Charlie was gradually becoming a creature of volition rather than an instrument instructed to perform certain tasks.  With the Ushah computer technology spurring rapid advances, the Project Charlie engineers could pack enough power into the Charlie central processor to rival that of a chimp’s brain.  Willpower and intelligence was the recipe of sapience. 

Of course, computing power was only the beginning of the technical hurdles.  “In order for the Charlies to prioritize abstract values, they would need to understand the values, accord them appropriate weight, and have some way of ordering them that made sense.  No one even knows how humans do that,” Takagawa said.

Waving away the objection, Peskov said, “You’re looking at this the wrong way.  We don’t have to fully understand humans in order to replicate human processes.” 

The Russian hacker took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt as he spoke.  “Let’s be systematic about this.  What are humans?  First, we take in and recognize data from our senses.  Second, we process it in our brain.  Third, we generate options to respond to the incoming data based on our experiences.  Fourth, we compare those options to the values hardwired into us by evolution—the need for food, rest, sex, whatever.  Fifth, we act on the basis of the values.  And sixth, we record the resulting pain or pleasure for use in future decisionmaking.” 

“So how do we make Charlie into something more like a human?”  He held up an index finger, then ticked off his subsequent points. 

“We’ve already got sensors drawing in data, and a central processor powerful enough to sort it all out.  Steps one and two are done.” 

“For step three, we already have the Charlies developing experience and learning.  The fifth and sixth steps are also already built in.” 

“Step three is all we need to do: hardwire the values we want in the Charlies.  And the best part is, we’ve already got a mechanism for doing that with the pain/pleasure system.  Now we just weight values for loyalty to comrades, saving humans, whatever else we want.  And boom, you’ve got Charlie IV—a silicon-based creature with as much free choice as any of us.”

Takagawa made herself look past the excitement of building a sapient mind.  Over the past year, Peskov had become increasingly grandiose in his vision for the project.  “Is this just another of your attempts to get to the Singularity?”

“Not at all,” Peskov said hurriedly.  “The Singularity is when artificial intelligence surpasses human intelligence, starts programming itself, and humans are quickly rendered obsolete.  We’re not teaching Charlie how to come up with new ideas.  We’re just giving him a way to decide how to apply the tactics and knowledge he already has.”

Peskov’s eyebrows bent as he pressed his case.  “This isn’t some philosophical thought experiment.  The Charlies were almost wiped out because they couldn’t adapt without us micromanaging them.  Either we cut the umbilical cord to us, or the same thing will happen again someday.”

He’s right
, Emma thought,
but there was only one chance to do this right
.  Peskov was describing a quantum leap in the Charlies.  Charlie I had been like a small bird going mindlessly through his subroutines.  Charlie II had been a shark, programmed to perform a simple attack under a simple set of circumstances.  Charlie III had been like a hunting dog, able to follow his masters’ will.  If Peskov’s vision became reality, Charlie IV would be... what?  A human-like servant?  A slave?

“You know what Flower and the politicians will say about this idea,” Takagawa said, uncharacteristically evading the real issue.

“Yes, yes, they’ll say we’re inviting rebellion by the Charlies.  We can avoid that easily enough by hard-wiring them not to harm humans.  As long as we instill in them the core concept that they are not to harm humans, they will not rebel.”

Could she ask the Terran Alliance to trust the fate of humanity to the programming of an artificial mind?
  It wasn’t unprecedented, she thought.  Computers had in some cases controlled the nuclear weapon stockpiles of the countries that had preceded the Terran Alliance.  If those rulers had trusted computers with the most powerful force known to man, then Flower could trust her not to create a robot uprising.

Of course, politics wasn’t the central problem.  The Charlies were her creation, but even she was beginning to lose a total understanding of how their processors made decisions.  If the system were dramatically increased in complexity...

She was about to ask exactly how Peskov would accomplish a hard-wiring to ensure the Charlies could not disobey orders, but the thought was interrupted by Yazov saying, “Look, there’s the plane now.”  Sure enough, a small transport aircraft was on final approach for a landing.

The Project Charlie personnel were allowed onto the tarmac to watch as the Charlies were removed from the aircraft.  It turned out that the remains had been kept in a standard shipping container with a partition separating the two robots’ broken forms.

When Takagawa saw that her creations had been packed like broken down computers, she called the Arcani director in Mozambique and cursed him out for fifteen minutes.  “They weren’t just pieces of equipment.  They were thinking beings who sacrificed the only consciousness they knew because we ordered them to.”  She developed the thought into an extended discussion of the contents of the Arcani director’s brain, which she speculated was mostly shit and undigested fat.

After she returned to her office, however, she sat in front of her fireplace and considered how the rest of the world viewed Charlie.  He was a machine.  They didn’t know that this particular machine carried one of its kin to an objective to give it a comforting final sense of honor and completion.  What would it take for the world to acknowledge that Charlie was worthy of consideration, of love?

She picked up her phone and dialed an extension.  “Peskov, come to my office.  Let’s talk about Charlie IV.”