The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (16 page)

“I hope that’s not a problem for you?” asked Sanders.

“No, no, not at all,” Chris replied. “I’m twenty years military. I know all about classified.”

“Good, then let’s get started. Ask it something,” Sanders invited. “Really, go ahead.”

Chris shirked his shyness and bent down, facing Number One.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” asked Chris in a pleasant voice.

Number One nodded once but kept staring forward.

“My name is Chris Michaels. Do you understand?”

Number One nodded again.

“Can you say my name?” asked Chris.

Number One didn’t move and remained quiet.

“Say the name Chris Michaels,” Sanders told Number One.

“Chris Michaels,” it answered in a whispery voice.

“He did it,” Chris said, astounded, smiling like he just taught his child how to talk.

“Tell him to lie back down,” stated Sanders.

“Number One, I want you to lie down on your bed,” said Chris.

“Yes, Dr. Michaels,” Number One answered, lying down on its back then pulling the sheet over its face.

“Incredible,” said Chris. “They seem so life-like.”

“You’ll be teaching them a particular curriculum while my staff and I tend to other matters,” stated Sanders, cracking a smile, checking his watch.

“So, all twelve of them are on the same level of intelligence?” asked Chris.

“Precisely,” Sanders answered, writing something on his desk. “Do you think you’ll like it here?”

“Sure,” Chris replied. “I think I’ll enjoy this very much.”

“Excellent,” Sanders replied, collecting papers from his desk. “Well, I have to run but we’ll meet again up for lunch. There are a few additional forms I need you to sign since you’ll be working here.”

“What would you like me to do until then?” Chris asked.

“Peruse the facility, get a cup of coffee or whatever,” Sanders responded. “Make sense?”

“Gotcha,” Chris replied.

***

A week later, Chris stood holding a clipboard behind the twelve A.I.s as they jogged on treadmills in a fitness room with mirrored walls. The floors had padded mats. There were free-weights on two-level dumbbell racks near a punching bag that hung in a corner.

Sanders walked in with Ernest Hamill.

“Dr. Sanders, how are you today, sir?” asked Chris in a cheery voice.

“Chris, this is—”

“—Ernest Hamill, I know who you are, sir,” stated Chris, shaking Gillespie’s hand, smiling.

Hamill nodded, appreciating Chris for knowing him. He stepped offline and watched the A.I.s jog on the treadmills as Sanders pulled Chris aside.

“We’ve been doing some thinking, Chris,” said Sanders.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I understand that you’ve had extensive military experience,” stated Sanders.

“I was in the Special Forces. What did you need help with?” asked Chris.

“I want you to train the initial twelve,” Sanders answered.

“Train them? Like with weapons?” asked Chris.

“Precisely,” Sanders replied. “Hand-to-hand combat. Firearms. Artillery. You and the late Scott Warnick tested Siddoway’s weaponry not far from here, correct?”

“We did,” Chris answered. “It was out in the boonies about ten—”

“—All I need you to do is get the twelve
military-ready
,” stated Sanders in an anxious voice.

“Military-ready?” asked Chris.

“Look, this is the Red Phoenix facility we’re talking here,” Sanders stated. “I can get clearance for anything from a handgun to a Blackhawk. You see what I’m saying?”

“I do,” Chris replied.

“Can you fly a military helicopter?” asked Sanders.

“It’s been a while but yeah, sure,” Chris answered.

“Good because I’m going to need you to dump anything you possibly can into my twelve A.I.s,” Sanders stated. “I want the world to see that my clones have the capacity not only to learn at an expeditious rate but to be trusted with heavy firepower.”

“What’s so important about this training?” asked Chris.

“In order for the contract to go through, Hamill wants the A.I.s prepped and
ready for action
,” said Sanders, worried.

“Didn’t you say the first twelve A.I.s weren’t going to be guarding the Mexican border?” Chris asked.

“I did but we’re nailing two birds with one stone here,” Sanders answered. “All I know is that the director of the Secret Service is supposed to be coming by the lab at some point, filling me in with the details of what the first twelve will be doing. Until then, we can impress the DOD at the same time with military capabilities. Get it?”

“I see where you’re coming from,” Chris replied.

“I’m way too busy and inexperienced. The facility has refused to hire somebody else for the training because of funding, so it comes back to you, Michaels.”

“You do understand I have never trained non-human cadets before?” asked Chris.

“Look, I can give you a promotion to first lab assistant
slash
executive    facilitator and raise your pay substantially,” stated Sanders. “You would have two to three months to get the twelve ready for action. As long as they’re impressed, the contract goes through and it’s money-city. I’ll even cut you in on the deal. Interested?”

“When do we start?” asked Chris.

***

Two weeks later, the warm morning Arizona sun was already making Chris perspire as he stood on top of a platform, looking down at the twelve A.I.s that were ready to perform tactical entry into fake rooms made from walls that were built ten days prior. Chris had set up mannequins in the corners of the rooms as targets to build their skills in combat. The A.I.s wore full camouflage gear with helmets and were armed with AR-15 paintball rifles. Chris guzzled down half a water bottle.
It’s as hot as the damn Middle-East out here,
he thought.

“Okay! I want you guys to complete the drill in three minutes this time!” said Chris into a bullhorn, setting his stopwatch. “Is that understood?”

“Yes sir!” the A.I.s hollered in unison, racking a round in their chambers.

“Begin!” said Chris, starting the timer.

They entered one room after another, shooting at the mannequins with impressive speed. Chris took out a remote and hit a button a couple of times, causing some phony landmines to explode, kicking up a mountain of dirt throughout the course. He was impressed watching Number One and another one somersaulting out of the way from the blast. Number One stood up and shot the last two mannequins at the end of the course.

“Time!” Chris said, stopping his watch, noticing they completed the course in two-minutes forty seconds.

Number One led the group to an opening, looking up at Chris as they removed their helmets.

“How did we perform, sir?” Number One asked politely.

“Excellent,” Chris replied with a smile, noticing Number One seemed more accelerated than the others.

***

Six weeks later, Chris sat at a table across from Number One in the lab, holding a clipboard, writing something down. Number One, as before, sat upright in a chair, wearing a T-shirt, camo pants and army boots, staring forward.

“How are you feeling today?” asked Chris.

“Good, Dr. Michaels,” Number One answered in a pleasant tone.  “Will we be doing more drills today?”

“Nope, just lab staff,” Chris answered.

“I see. Will you and Dr. Sanders will be more making more artificial intelligences soon?” asked Number One.

“Hey, pal, I just work here,” Chris answered. “I have to ask you and the other eleven others the same questions too.”

“I understand,” stated Number One.

“Make a fist please,” stated Chris.

Number One raised a hand and clinched a fist.

“Good,” said Chris. “Point to the wall, please.”

Number One extended his arm and pointed his finger, staring forward.

“Any dreams last night?” asked Chris, writing on his clipboard.

“Dreams? Would you define that word please, Dr. Michaels?”

“While you were sleeping, did you see anything, talk to anybody, go anywhere?” asked Chris. “Like to a beach or a city?”

“No, Dr. Michaels. I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Call me Chris, okay?”

“Chris?” Number One asked.

“I’m not a doctor, I’m just a helper,” Chris responded, turning over his paper on the clipboard. “You know; a lab assistant.”

“But you spend so much time with us in the lab and training us with weapons. My assumption was that you helped create us,” stated Number One.

“Trust me, I wish I was that smart,” stated Chris. “Okay, now let’s do more object identifying,” he added, holding up a picture of a turtle.

“A tortoise, also known as a turtle,” said Number One.

“Good job,” Chris replied, holding up a photo of Sam Wickenburg.

“Mr. Sam Wickenburg, the director of the Red Phoenix facility.”

“Good,” said Chris, holding up a large card with a short message on it.

Number One stared at the card but remained silent.

“Well? Can you read it?” asked Chris.

“Why are we doing these tests, Chris?” asked Number One.

“To increase vocabulary and level of intelligence,” Chris replied.

“Intelligence? What is that?” it asked.

“It’s what makes humans different from the animals,” Chris answered. “It gives one a sense of superiority.”

“I don’t understand,” said Number One.

“Our ability to reason and show compassion rather than just acting on survival instincts,” Chris responded. “Do you understand now?”

“I do,” Number One answered.

“Great, now try to read the card,” said Chris in a patient voice.

“
For what shall it profit a man if he gain the world but loses his soul
?” stated Number One as it read the card.

“Have any idea what that means?” asked Chris.

“The word
soul
, please explain,” asked Number One.

“Well, many believe that a soul is what God gave man when He created him and placed him on Earth,” answered Chris. “I believe this too.”