The Great Destroyer (17 page)

Joan had specialized in surveilling Ushah settlements, not ambushing patrols.  She knew Art and Simon would detect her well before she found them.  There was little danger that they’d shoot at her, of course, because of the identification system Project Charlie had taken from the FAA and modified for use in the field.  If a Charlie used its onboard laser system to establish distance to a second Charlie, that robot would fire its own laser back instantly, and both would know that the target was a friend.

Still, Joan didn’t want to make it easy for Art and Simon.  She might learn something from testing them. 

First, she took a few minutes to move further west so that she’d approach the base from the southwest instead of the south.  Art and Simon would likely be expecting threats to come straight up from the south. 

The Ushah were tactically clever, often changing their direction of approach.  However, they often approached from an entirely different direction, like circling around the suspected Charlie base and approaching from the north.  Then they’d revert back to the south the next time.  It was rare that they would take a subtly different approach.

Her strategy now was mostly a matter of training, of moving quietly and using the jungle as an ally.  She knew she’d need to be lucky to use the jungle more adroitly than Art and Simon, but she still listened for bird cries, the scurrying of a warthog evading a potential predator, all of the indicators that could point to a seven-foot tall robot stalking through the trees.

Suddenly, two birds cried out at once and stirred from the trees about forty meters to the east.  Joan looked in that direction and saw nothing.  She waited ten seconds, then began slowly moving east.  Birds would abruptly move for any number of reasons, but two squawking out and moving at once suggested that they had been startled by something.  It could very well be Art or Simon making a mistake.

Then the laser hit her, and she automatically sent a response along the same azimuth before her higher analytical functions could even register the event.  “Welcome back to the base, Joan,” Art transmitted to her.  They had no need to speak when they could simply send messages electronically back and forth.

It took Joan a little over a second to figure out what had happened.  “You did not startle the birds,” Joan observed.

“No,” Art said.  “Simon and I placed a spring loaded device on a tree that moves abruptly, causing wildlife in the area to flee.  Or, in this case, a Joan.”

She registered amusement. 

A massive data mining project, partially outsourced to a number of universities around the world, had created a grammar, syntax, and dictionary database of Terran Standard over a two year period.  The Charlies drew upon that database to converse almost as fluidly as humans.

Though she had no idea why Project Charlie had built a rudimentary sense of humor into the Charlies, she knew the basics of how it functioned.  Discordant ideas that did not constitute a threat triggered a humor response, which functioned as a more permanent dismissal of the notion than mere filing away would have.  In that sense, humor was just a more advanced method of teaching, some of the Charlies had surmised. 

Charlies had taken to seeing who could trigger the humor response best in other Charlies.  They would signal amusement by sending back the transcription of human laughs, with the number of “ha” sounds indicating the level of amusement. 

Joan sent back, “Hahaha.”  Funny, but not outrageously so.

The Charlies who could get the most laughs were considered by the others to be most insightful about the minds and attitudes of the other Charlies, an attribute which could make them more useful in planning operations against the Ushah.  Art was among the best at provoking the humor response.  She replied to his jest, “A Joan who successfully completed her mission.”

Sharing information about her missions in the field with other Charlies so that they could benefit from her experience increased Deep Satisfaction.  For that reason, she was eager to share the details as soon as she could. 

“Congratulations,” Art answered.  “Was it difficult?”

“I had to kill one Ushah,” Joan replied.  “Not very difficult.  I will head into the base now to report back to Houston.  Then I will tell you all about it.”

Art answered out loud, using his onboard speaker.  “Wait one moment, please.  There is another matter I would like to discuss with you.”

“Why are we not communicating through electronic messaging?” Joan asked aloud.  The higher functions of her central processor suggested that Art was concerned about electronic surveillance, but there was no evidence that the Ushah had ever cracked the encryption used for Charlie-to-Charlie communications.

Art didn’t look away or show any sign of hesitation.  “I do not wish for our conversation to show up in the messages record that is transmitted back to Houston every two hours.”

Joan had no idea why Art would not want that, but she didn’t question the request.  “Very well, we will converse audibly.”

“Thank you,” Art said.  “When you were inside the Ushah colony, did you notice any indication of a human presence?”

“No,” Joan said.  “I would have noted such a presence immediately.  However, I only saw a very small part of the colony.”  Her processor noted the incongruity of such an idea, but she decided it wasn’t a very good joke, and thus might actually be a far-fetched attempt at a genuine question.  “Why do you ask?”

Art’s body language was incapable of showing discomfort, but she sensed it in the minute hesitation before he replied.  “I will attempt to convey my reasoning to you.  Have you ever seen the Ushah defeat us decisively in battle?”

“No, I have not seen that,” Joan said.

“We often defeat them, and yet they continue to spread, do they not?” Art pressed.

“Yes, they do.”

Art continued, “Terran Alliance leadership, including First Representative Lian Flower, has repeatedly expressed its desire to stop the spread of the Ushah into Africa.  To that end, Project Charlie has tasked us with defeating the Ushah.  We have been defeated by the Ushah on only a very few occasions.  We have defeated them many times.  However, the Ushah continue to spread.  Do you agree with these observations?”

“Yes, I do.”  Joan wondered where this was going.

Art forged on, “I conclude from that set of observations that either Project Charlie or the Terran Alliance is giving us the wrong missions.  Even if we accomplish those missions, we are no closer to ultimate victory.  We are actually farther from ultimate victory now than we were when our forebears fought the Battle of the Tunnel.”

Joan’s processor pulled apart the ideas Art had described.  “Your analysis seems correct.”

“There are three possibilities I have identified to explain this apparent paradox.  One, the Ushah are more powerful than the Terran Alliance and Project Charlie leadership anticipated.  The success of your mission leads me to believe that this is not the case.  You succeeded in breaking into their colony alone.  If the rest of us helped, we could certainly destroy the colony.”

“I agree,” Joan said. 

“Two, Project Charlie leadership is following an erroneous strategy.  I discount this possibility because Viktor Yazov and Professor Jackson are supremely talented.  Emma Takagawa would surely not allow them to command us if they were not.”

Yazov’s competence and Takagawa’s good will were close to axiomatic for the Charlies.  “I do not think that is likely,” Joan acknowledged.

Art continued, his voice carrying no inflection of emotion.  “Three, the Terran Alliance is undermining the effort to contain the Ushah.”

“Joan is back at Base Delta,” Yazov reported over the speakerphone.  “She reports mission accomplished.”

Relief flooded Professor Jackson.  Sitting across from him in his office, Emma Takagawa closed her eyes in thanks.  This had been the most dangerous operation of the simmering war between the Ushah and humanity.  “Pass along my congratulations,” Takagawa said.  “Were there any Ushah casualties?”

“One scout just outside the perimeter of the base.”

Jackson added, “And I guess we don’t really know what Peskov’s bugs will do in the Ushah system.  Hopefully they don’t wipe out the life support systems at the Ushah children’s hospital or something.”

Yazov laughed.  “The bastards have too many children as it is.”  It was callous, but true, Jackson thought.

The Ushah reproduced at a high rate, faster than biologists had thought possible for an intelligent species.  Humans, after all, needed a great deal of time to raise children because of the need to dramatically increase brain size after birth.  Other species of similar intelligence would presumably need a similar amount of time to develop a functioning adult.

But, where humans needed nine months of gestation and as much as six months before conception was even possible again, the Ushah had quadrupled their population in three years.  Biologists cried foul, suggesting that the Ushah were growing test-tube babies in artificial gestation chambers, but no evidence was available one way or the other.

Yazov asked, “How long until the bugs start working?”

“Hard to say,” Takagawa answered.  “The bugs are in place, but now Dmitry has to live up to his promises.  He claims his team can break into their communications in under twelve hours.  Could be much less than that, could be more.”

Dmitry Peskov had emerged as the most visionary programmer in Project Charlie, which quite probably meant he was the cleverest programmer in the world.  Jackson had been the one to propose an intelligence gathering raid, but Peskov had convinced Takagawa that he understood Ushah programming well enough that once he got a bug into their system, he could collect whatever information they might require without a physical takeover of an Ushah colony. 

“But if the Ushah find the bugs before then, we’re screwed,” Jackson added to Takagawa’s analysis.  He ran a hand through his hair nervously and reminded himself that it had been a necessary risk, that humanity needed to start learning more about the Ushah before it was too late to counter whatever they were up to.  “Emma will be monitoring the bugs’ progress from here.”

Yazov said, “Call me when Peskov’s team breaks in.”

Jackson answered, “Of course, Viktor.  I recommend you get some rest, my friend.”

Yazov barked a short laugh.  “Not until you do, Thomas.  Talk to you later.”

* * *

Turning the phone off, Jackson commented to his wife, standing beside his desk, “
Alea iacta est
—the die is cast.”

“Caesar, right?” Emma asked.  18 months of marriage to Jackson had taught her the basics of military history.

Nodding, Jackson said, “I wish we could ask Oslahef what the hell the Ushah are up to with their expansion.”  Oslahef had refused to answer questions on the subject.  Indeed, she had proven so unwilling to provide useful information that Safety Minister Redfeather had succeeded in convincing First Minister Flower to exchange her for a promise to halt further territorial expansion seven months earlier.  The Ushah had accepted the deal, then claimed that further expansion was merely a necessary extension of existing colonies, not an enterprise to build new ones.

“We could order the Charlies to take more prisoners,” Peter said.  “But the Ushah soldiers don’t know much, and kidnapping any of the leader caste could trigger a war.”

Jackson grunted.  “A war might be preferable to the stealth imperialism the Ushah have going.  At this rate of population growth and territorial expansion, they’ll control the whole African continent in a decade.  Something’s got to wake up the goddamn Terran Alliance Assembly before the Ushah conquer a third of the planet.”

That was just frustration talking, Jackson knew.  Project Charlie’s funding had finally been capped eighteen months earlier, and the end result was that there were only about fifty Charlie IVs ready to fight.  Indeed, there were only that many because Jackson had come up with the gimmick of allowing each territory of the Terran Alliance to fund their own Charlie and name him after one of their heroes from history.  The French had ponied up the money for Joan d’Arc, the Venezuelans had bought Simon Bolivar, and so forth.  The individual skills and personalities that the Charlie IVs were developing helped further market the idea. 

“We can’t have war,” Takagawa answered.  “Not yet, anyway.  You know why.”

As the closest thing to a grand strategist of the Charlies, he did know why.  Fifty Charlie IVs weren’t enough to take on the Ushah.  Oh, there were about a hundred of the less capable Charlie IIIs in mothballs, but it still wasn’t anywhere near enough to contain the sheer numbers the Ushah could put into the field.  Jackson’s team of research assistants had war gamed the scenario repeatedly.  The Ushah won the war every time. 

Unless more Charlies were produced or each Charlie was made far more capable, the Ushah would either keep up their expansion or, if war came, win it decisively and then impose whatever terms they wanted on humanity writ large.

“Time might not be on our side,” Jackson said simply.  “The Ushah army is growing.  If we’re the ones who start the war, we might be able to tear apart a settlement or two before the Ushah can mount a coherent defense.  That could scare the rest of them into coming to a ceasefire.”

“Or launching a full-scale invasion of South Africa and whatever other human settlements they can hit in the region,” Takagawa countered.

Always logical
, Jackson thought. 
Almost
, he corrected himself.  For every person, there were some topics that pushed them beyond the realm of logic, he thought.  For his wife, it was the Charlies.  She had devoted her life to creating them, and now they were the children she never had.  There was little she would not sacrifice to save them. 

For his dear friend Yazov, tradition went beyond the realm of reason, the pattern of behavior going back a millennium that had defined his family.  If the Ushah war had not come along, he would have found some other way to fight.

So what’s your illogical passion, professor?
he asked himself. 

His train of thought was interrupted by a phone call.  Takagawa reached over and flicked on the speakerphone.  He sneaked a glance at the caller ID: Dmitry Peskov.  “Talk to me, Dmitry,” Takagawa ordered.

“We’re in,” the Russian said simply.

* * *

It was early afternoon when Peskov felt ready to brief the upper management of Project Charlie on what his team had uncovered with the bugs.  Takagawa, Chief Executive and Director of Development.  Yazov, Director of Operations.  Jackson, Director of Strategy.  He had the most nebulous title, but all understood his real role.  He was the one who evaluated Ushah intentions and decided what the Charlies should do to frustrate those intentions. 

Yazov’s tactical acumen was unparalleled, and it was very seldom that the Ushah could beat the Charlies under his command.  When the Ushah marshalled their strength, the Charlies would retreat into the jungle, setting up ambushes as they withdrew and bleeding the Ushah for every step. 

Takagawa, had directed the most stunning technological leap forward in centuries.  In the span of three years, she had reversed the push of the Great Stagnation.  It would take decades, he thought, before all of the ancillary inventions stemming from breakthroughs in Project Charlie would be patented and sold to civilians.

And he, Professor Tom Jackson... well, he might be the sorry bastard who wasted the achievements of his best friend and his wife if he couldn’t figure out a way to change the dynamics of the slow-burning war in Africa.

When the three leaders of Project Charlie were seated, Peskov began.  “Welcome, welcome to the show,” he said with a giggle.

Jackson didn’t need to look at Emma to know that they shared the same thought.  Peskov was increasingly erratic, increasingly weird in his mannerisms and behavior.  He was far and away the most brilliant programmer they had, however, so his eccentricity was tolerated. 

A lot had been tolerated, in fact.  He had driven two good female programmers from Project Charlie with unwanted sexual advances.  Yazov, characteristically brilliant, had come up with the solution of hiring a prostitute to pose as a lab assistant.  No more women had been driven from the program, and Peskov had continued his work on the higher order processing functions of the Charlie central processor.

Peskov adjusted his glasses and started in a grand tone.  “When Joan of Arc’s bug plugged itself into a data cable running from an Ushah air conditioning unit to the central habitat control system, it was the first time our two civilizations connected our higher minds together.  We communicated not just between individual entities, but between the electronic overminds that provide the backbone for our societies.”

Takagawa cleared her throat.  “Dmitry, what did you find in their system?”

Annoyed to have his bombast cut short, Peskov said, “Yes, well, the first crucial question we faced was whether the Ushah would have any sort of security on their systems at all.  After all, they spent some unknown decades or centuries on their mothership, and during that time they probably wouldn’t have had to worry much about penetration of their data networks.”

This still wasn’t quite answering Peter’s question, Jackson thought, but at least Peskov wasn’t just grandstanding.  With Peskov, you took what you could get.

“Well, it turns out they do have security protocols.  Lucky for us, the protocols were pretty weak, just alphanumeric passwords not at all dissimilar to what we have here on Earth.  We had the three fastest supercomputers on the planet chomp through the permutations and, bam: we had control of the habitat climate system.” 

Peskov giggled, and this time Jackson smiled, trying to make Peskov feel like less of an outsider.  “Hopefully you turned off their heat, gave them a little taste of the frigid 90 degree heat,” he said.

“Not exactly,” Peskov said.  “Their climate control was merely the entry point.  The climate control system has its own connection to a computer system in the Ushah’s colony office—whatever you call the place where they make decisions for the specific colony.”  He waved a hand airily.  “We rode that connection into the colony office, got through another slightly more complicated alphanumeric passcode, and voila, access to all communications channels between the colony office and the Enshath’s inner circle back in Madagascar.”

“Holy shit,” Jackson said.  “We’re reading the messages between the emperor of the Ushah and the colonies?”

Shaking his head in annoyance, Peskov said, “I didn’t say that.  We only had access to the communications between the Enshath and Colony 4.”

“Why didn’t you follow the electronic connection and hack the Enshath’s system?” Takagawa asked.

Peskov replied defensively, “We had no idea what would happen when we try to jump onto the Enshath’s system.  She might have had higher security, might have locked us out of the entire system, and she’d definitely have someone monitoring who’s on her system.  Better to plunder all we could from the colony instead of getting too greedy right at the outset.”

“That sounds wise, Dmitry,” Yazov said.  Peskov beamed.  Praise from Yazov was hard won indeed, and the Russian soldier seemed to be the only one Peskov genuinely respected in the program. 
Doubtless a holdover from their time together in the prison camps
, Jackson surmised.

“Yes, well, it paid off,” Peskov said with a grin.  “It took the Ushah colony office about two hours to figure out we were on their system and kick us off.  They’ve apparently found all the bugs now though, so we’re not getting anything else out of the operation.”