Toy Wars (12 page)

I arranged myself correctly on the table.
C
lamps came and covered my ankles, my wrists and my neck
as soon as I assumed the correct position
.
I admit
to the advisability of the restraints as a
precaution when dealing with the delicacy of my brain
, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop at least
30
degrees. It seemed to drop another
30
when
the
8.3-
centimeter
-
long needle reach
ed
menacingly toward me.
I suppressed an urge to rip off the restraints and run.
“It’ll all be over in a moment if I can just maintain my calm,” I whispered over and over to myself.

“There is no cause for alarm, Teddy 1499.”
I didn’t know whether to be thankful or even more nervous at Six’s reassurance, so I just relaxed to
the
inevitable.

My sensors felt the sharp point penetrate the thickness of my head’s shell.
By the length of the needle
that
remained
exposed, I had to assume it had already penetrated my sump as well.
I felt a rather odd sensation
,
which
spun the entire room wildly
around me.
And then, just for the briefest of moments, I thought I would go to sleep
. Just as quickly as the sensations started
,
senses reported correctly that the world once again
firmly applied to reference points
I could rely upon.

Seeing the full length of the needle in front of me, I learned the meaning of the word trust.
True to its word, Six removed exactly
10
milliliters.
I could see the amber fluid in the retrieval device.
This puzzled me as all units’ sumps contained a green
phosphorescent liquid

“I detect a number of inconsistencies in the rest of your functional systems, 1499.
Your hydraulic fluid levels are not at optimal levels and there is some unrepaired damage in your right wrist.
I shall correct them.”
There was no trepidation now.
I no longer worried about being disassembled as Six had earned my trust.

“Please do!”
Several odd-colored hoses, each tipped by a stout needle, snaked out of the wall and plunged through my
fur
and into my fluid reservoirs.
I let out an inaudible sigh as the tanks topped off.
A great black box covered my right arm to the elbow.
For several minutes I felt strange tickling on my wrist and the palm of my hand until the box finally withdrew.

“Optimal functionality restored to all subsystems,” Six reported as it released the clamps about my body.

“Thank you, Six.”
It was then, looking at my white hand, that I realized I had information for Six.
“I have a useful bit of information.
Animal parts can, under certain circumstances, be used in our units.”

“Unlikely.”

“True, Six.
My hand is of animal origin.
Note the color.
Scan me and see if that is in your database.”
The only response was the infrared heat scan across my body.
When it reached my replaced wrist, it lingered.

“Confirmation.
Information will be downloaded to all
Nurse Nan
units.”
Not even a “
t
hank you.”
Ingrate, I thought, but my heart wasn’t
fully behind
the slur.
Instead my attentions
focused
on the
burnt orange
fluid which had come from my head.

I stared in fascination at the solution.
My brain fluid had at one time been almost pure green and something had changed it to a golden burnt-orange.
I couldn’t imagine how that came about, but with an unknown substance roaming around in my head anything was possible.
Irrationally
,
I rubbed my head.

Six and I began to work around the clock at painstaking research.
On more than one occasion we needed to dip into my brain for more fluid.
Four weeks and six samples later, we arrived at a working hypotheses.
The details of the twenty-eight days would be of interest only to a scientist so I will not elaborate, but
will
stick only to the overall results.

Our first group of experiments on my amber brain fluid involved examining the solution microscopically.
The solution showed the green polymer was still in the solution
;
however
,
there was a great deal more of the vivid orange “unknown” than could be accounted for.
Only
10
milliliters of the orange substance had been originally added to my sump.
That meant that at most there should be ten parts in
2,264
, or about one part in
230
.
Instead
,
we were always finding one part in
108
.

In a simple experiment we added a tiny fraction of one milliliter of my brain juice to some pure semi
-
conductive fluid.
Within an hour, the
golden
unknown, which we had tentatively called Teddium, assigned molecular abbreviation Td, consumed portions of the pure polymer base and changed it into more Teddium over the space of two hours, but always to exactly one part in
108
.
There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for this ratio, but it was the same every time.
However, within another hour of achieving this ratio, the mixture changed to dead black
.
The new gelatinous substance
contained no Teddium and no polymer
.
W
hen analyzed
,
this substance, which could never be pumped by a sump
,
shared many similarities
to tar.

It took dozens of experiments and several more samples from my brain tissue (as the original kept going to tar), so we planned our experiments in advance
so
as not to waste a single drop of my brain fluid.

After all our research was over, we had to live with one failure.
We had no way to isolate Teddium from the semi-conductive fluid of my brain and maintain it outside my functioning body.
We had absolutely no method
that
would work.
We even removed one single molecule with microsurgery techniques.
Before we were able to acknowledge we had removed it, it turned to tar.
Raw Teddium seemed to have an equivalent decay half-life of Nobelium 250
—
in other words, almost nonexistent.
We decided, after any number of failures, to not attempt to remove the Teddium and experiment with it saturated in the semi-conductive fluid.

Our only working assumption was that if the Teddium/semiconductor polymer mixture fed regularly through a scanner
it
would not turn to tar.
Six and I worked to recreate the conditions inside the scanners and the sump so we could store any quantity of Teddium, but not a single experiment succeeded.
We eventually gave up that line of research.

What Six really needed w
as
more units like myself.
We decided on more
practical research.
While we were trying to produce and test Teddium, we found out that my brain fluid exhibited some interesting properties.
It could, without
any
direct input we could determine, think on its own.
We actually observed the orange unknown combining polymer strings within itself.
When that string was examined, the combination showed intelligence behind its construction.
I
t wasn’t being placed at random as the strings associated to other semi
-
conductive brain fluid strings.

Our discovery wasn’t
the moral equivalent of
ten
thousand monkeys typing on
ten
thousand typewriters.
Six and I watched it again and again, with the memory strings becoming more complex.
Teddium
surprised us again as being unreadable
by the scanners
.
Instead
,
the scanners shunted it as if it received
a blank memory
.
B
ut the interesting thing was that statistically it speeded up memory recall.

Whenever a specific memory logically followed some other memory just recalled, a Teddium poly-string would wrap around the subsequent memory, causing a denser combined unit than any other uncombined memory.
This would cause the specific memory string to sink faster to the bottom.
As the reader in any sump was at the bottom of that sump, it would get that particular memory string that much faster.
Teddium actually aided memory recall by as much as
30
percent.
We knew at least one of
Teddium
’s properties.

But back to practicality we needed that capability transferred to other units.
We decided to try to
inject some of my
saturated brain fluid
into the sump of another
“volunteer” unit
.

Teddy unit
2513, a unit wearing a shocking gold color, was pulled off the
assembly
l
ine and placed on a new exam table
and
placed adjacent to where I already lay clamped down. Six provided a video feed. I watched the procedure, even through the dizzies. The extraction needle pierced the fur at the top of my head.
Moments later it moved precisely to the sump of
2513
injecting through the gold fur
.

Six and I observed carefully. We asked 2513 many different questions. The answers never varied from expected parameters. At the one hour mark, the nauseating yellow body jerked hard and straightened stiff like a board, all of his hydraulic cylinders locked in place.

“2513?”
For seventeen minutes he didn’t respond.
I learned what the Humans call “A watch
ed
pot never boils.”
I couldn’t keep my eyes off 2513
.

“I am here,” 2513 said firmly. “Why have the Humans chosen me for this ordeal?
I cannot see.”

“We, both 1499 and Six, are right here beside you.”

“Where is here?”

“In Six’s main audience chamber.
Lay still.
You still have another forty-three minutes until the Teddium is completely dispersed.”

“I will comply
,
but it is very cold.”

“The temperature is a constant
4
degrees Celsius,” Six offered.

“That is a phantom symptom of an emotion called fear.”

“I see.
Are there any more emotions I should be aware of?”

“I took the liberty of programming my experiences with emotions
into your memories. Y
ou
can
reference
my monograph entitled
‘Human Emotions
A
s
A
pplied to Units.’”

“Thank you, 1499.”

The experimentation continued. We performed exactly the same test using another brand new teddy off the line but using 2513 as the source of our Teddium. The experiment replicated. Just to be sure
,
we tried it on another type of unit.
The giraffe took longer to become self
-
aware than either of the two teddies but it came around at the two
-
hour mark.

Six had a way to create more of me.
We could reproduce.
I was a parent.
Smiling in the
Human
way I said, “I guess that is another success.”

General

The only problem with success is that you are expected
to replicate it over and over in increasingly difficult situations.

“This project is complete,” Six told me.
“I need someone to lead in
S
ector Echo-2.
An express train waits to take you
, 1499
.
Train travel is spotty to that sector.
Be prepared for extensive foot travel.”

“I will do my best, Six.”
The Factory didn’t respond.
While I felt loyalty to it, the emotion didn’t seem to be reciprocated
even in light
of
my exceptional accomplishments.
Was I just a thing to the Factory?
I began to think
that I possessed something my creator didn’t
—
emotions.

I walked out to the waiting train.
I could tell by the bright yellow “Chicago-Milwaukee” across the side that I had drawn my previous speed run train.
I
t wasn’t as hostile to me this time.
I couldn’t fathom whether it had decided that I was worth the extra service, or if its process showed I wasn’t worth the
aggravation
.
It at least waited until I was buckled
; then, 20-
centimeter metal wheels spun on the tracks showering sparks before finally catching and hurtling us forward.

I spent the trip in idle reverie of my achievements
—
three
battle victories and two scientific breakthroughs.
Oddly
,
I felt better about my scientific feats.
All of them were in the service of Six
.
Each carried an import all on its own
.
Each
should carry equal weight.
But they didn’t.
In my
three
combat wins, I
organized the destruction of
hundreds of creatures, and got hundreds of my own slaughtered
—
a destroyer and sower of chaos.
In my scientific deeds I showed how we could repair damaged units or build new
—
a builder and mender of life.

It
crystallized quickly
—
construction versus destruction, build or destroy, kill or cure.
I knew where my heart lay.
At the same time I knew that the war Six waged
was for our very life.
I couldn’t let Six be destroyed
as head of our family
.

That left a puzzling question.
Did that make Teddy 2513 my son as well?
Was I actually going to be the father of a new race?
Did that make Six their mother?
T
hose thoughts
w
ore
at my processor as it constantly worried on this throughout the trip.

The train slowed as it began to
climb a grade toward an i
mpressive mountain range.
The peaks of the mountains were bare of most any vegetation, giving them a darker red appearance.
The grade led us to a tunnel so black that even the engine’s trio of headlights couldn’t penetrate it more than a few meters
as they were swallowed down the maw of some beast even more gigantic than the
T.
rex I fought.

The tunnel walls were smooth, having been bored by teams of Six’s units.
As the train and I traveled through that blackness, time stretched out and wore at my sensors as the weight of the darkness and the stone above seemed to settle down upon me.
Only the reassuring clickety-clack of the rails beneath us gave me any comfort.
I was beginning to think these emotion things were much more a bother than a blessing.
I almost longed for being a stupid old-style unit where I could follow orders and not wonder, worry, or wish.

We emerged several minutes later from the blackened shaft into the twilight.
From our time inside I estimated that the tunnel was
20
kilometers long.
A year to excavate that bore would be an optimistic projection.
Twisting around
on my
flatbed car, I could see that the mountains on this side looked even more imposing.
I would not want to take a troop through those high
passes, as it would be too easily
ambushed.

The train screeched to a halt after a mere three hours.
Bomb craters
pockmarked the rail bed
all the way to the horizon.
Twisted skewers and bent spires of the steel rails stuck up at odd angles
.

“End of the line,” the
train informed me over my
specific
area net
.

“Thank you
for the speedy journey
,
E
ngine
.”

The engine’s diesel
-
powered horn
gave a happy toot as it bustled away.

My internal map showed
50 kilometers separated me from
Echo-2
. It looked like shank’s mare for me from here on.
I slung my comb
at pack and M16 over my back
and started off over the rough, broken ground.

I increased my pace to maximum
military speed for
long distances.
I avoided the rail bed to minimize the impact of the bomb damage. I emphasize that it only minimized it. In some places the swath of scorched earth stretched for several hundred meters.

On the move
I tried in vain to get access to the wide area net.
There
,
constant traffic painted a picture of chaos. My requests were
repeatedly denied.
Something big was happening
and I was deaf, dumb, and blind.

As I couldn’t interact
or
get information and my body cruised on autopilot, I
reduced my time sense and watched the
visual symphony of a
sunset speed by in a play of pinks and blues.
The
slight
wind
chorused into the natural display with a lonely wail
and brushed the tips of tall ruddy
-
brown grass.
I found I liked the solitude with no one to
report to and no one to command.
H
ad Six been safe, I would have been content here on this desolate savanna with the breeze as my only companion.

My processing unit detected the drop in ambient light. Seventy
-
three seconds short of optimal time for switching to thermal
imaging
I caught a glow just over the next hill. I put a hold on night vision mode until I crested the rise. Off in the distance thousands of pinpoint
lights
a
nd flashes caught my attention. Only because of the desolate silence could I hear the bass rumble. Each
tiny
muzzle flash
snapped like a flashbulb with no sound.
A large light bloomed and then died.
Moments later the rumble increased and then faded again.

I estimated the battlefield at
a
mere
15
kilometers
’
distant
.
I decided to hurry just a bit faster.
As I ran, I kept a close eye on the slight temperature elevation in my hydraulic fluid. Overheating could kill me just as easily as any bullet.

After an hour
I could just begin to hear the sounds of battle in the crashing thunder of bombs and the unmistakable clatter of machine-gun fire.
I was amazed at how the sound traveled.
I pressed on, thinking I would not get to the conflict’s scene for about another
three hours
—
but
I was wrong.

I felt two bullets tear through my skin
just before I heard the rifle’s report.
I fell backward into the concealing grasses, as if deactivated by the slugs.
Lying there motionless, I did a quick physical check.

I had been lucky
.
My right ear, on the other hand, torn off and
lying
on the ground about
16
centimeters from my left foot, didn’t feel so lucky
.
A
Nurse Nan
could attach it in five minutes or less
.
My attacker had to be either a
B
aby
D
oll or
T
eddy
B
ear unit.
If a
t
ank
hit me
,
most of my skull would also be lying on the ground
,
and I would be watching my sump drain out onto the
ground
. I
f
my assailant
had been a giraffe sniper, it would have been a single shot right through my sump
or processor
.
I only hoped it was only a lone scout or guard.

I knew I couldn’t be seen in the tall brick-red weeds, so I
slowly
unslung my M16
and chambered a round
.
Whoever shot me
would eventually tag me for scrap.
My memories sa
y
it only took eight minutes
,
forty-three seconds but to my mind at the time
it
seemed endless.
With my good
ear
I heard
the footfalls of two pairs of synchronized legs in a sequential pattern
swishing through the brush.
The footfalls also impacted heavily
.
It was an elephant.
That meant it wasn’t alone.

Elephants don’t carry machine guns, as they have no hands.
I suspected that my attacker
remained in a
sniper position in one of the small rock formations to my north
.
T
he elephant
came just to tag the prize
.

I would have to be accurate with my fire.
While the elephant wasn’t quite as tall as I was, it would probably out-mass m
e
by two-to-one.
I didn’t want to be trampled or grappled.

The black trunk stuck up over the weeds just before the rest
of the head.
The trunk made a perfect arrow pointing to where I needed to fire.
The elephant didn’t get another step.
I put a three-round burst right where I had already learned was the primary effective fire location on elephants.
I didn’t wait to gauge results.
No matter how well I
had done
, I
expected m
ore fire from my sniper.
I rolled to my feet and ran.

Part of my mind did keep track of what happened to the elephant.
I must have shot perfectly through its brain sump.
As an added bonus, I
had to have
tagged its processor modules.
It couldn’t even sustain its position and keeled over onto its side with a thud.

My immediate requirement was running
in as circuitous
a
manner as possible.
To
e
nsure my serpentine course I tied into m
y own specialized random movement generator
. I
didn’t trust the standard issue one.
Bullets stitched the ground on either side of me as I ran.
Soil and bits of plant flew with the dull thunk-thunk-thunk of heavy caliber bullets hitting the soft earth.
Not a single
projectile
found its mark as I dashed the hundred meters to jump into the nearest bomb crater.
This didn’t mean I wasn’t hurt.
In my over-eagerness to take cover I rammed
my left thigh
against the blunt end of a torn train rail.
The damage rated only a single point on the severity scale
—
trivial.

From the sounds and the direction of earth dispersion of bullet impacts, m
y mind
placed
the most probable location of the sniper.
There had to be only one
.
The number of shots and their pattern
—
three
…
pause
…
three
…
pause
…
three.
The
sound also confirmed with some accuracy that its
weapon
was an
M16 like the one I was carrying.
The sniper knew
my location
and I knew
his
.
Who was the better shot?
I got my answer almost immediately as I tried to ease my assault rifle over the top of my protective stone.
The trio of bullets shattered rock on either side of my weapon.
I
dropped
back down
flat
.