Toy Wars (30 page)

Sancho bellowed through
h
is snout.

“Sorry, but this is one danger you can’t keep me from, nor can you share it.
I must do this.”
Even though I seemed to have no conscious control of my motions
,
I started to walk toward the dome
. A sense of p
eace
flowed over me
.
My decision
was
made
and consequences
be
what they will
.
In the words of one famous Human, “Damn the torpedoes.
Full speed ahead.”

My ability to control what I was doing returned as I approached the flattened dome.
I still had minor jitters about my abilities.
I hoped my new line of persuasion would work.
Visions of what had happened with 55474 flashed through my mind
,
and I prayed to the Humans that being chased out of
a
nother
d
ome by a dozen armed units wasn’t to be the result.
If it was, I might as well just find a nice quiet spot, like th
at
sunny little butte
where I found thousands of rock beetles crawling around and live there becaus
e Six was finished.
Two Factories, even if not cooperating, would make short work of Six at this point
. My meager capabilities wouldn’t impact that outcome at all.

I followed the rails the last
dozen
meters to the audience chamber door.
All of the Factories at least seemed to have the same internal layout.
Could the Humans
’
plans for us
have
played a part in their shape?

A dim yellow light from the ceiling, a stark contrast to the vivid reds of the outside world, lit the chamber.
Just as before, the audience chamber
awed me
. Eac
h sound amplified so that even the floor against my feet, soft and furry though they might be, was like a windstorm.
Humans surely looked down on their subjects in this place. They watched my performance for them.

My limbs
felt like
mercury filled them.
“Excuse me
,
” I said
.
I got no response.
“Hello, Factory?”

“Biologics do not converse,” came a high reedy voice, emanating from seemingly everywhere.
While this was disconcerting,
it also settled me
.
I felt the power of my convictions fill me and all but lift me off the floor.
I was ready.

“And why not?”

“No biologic examined to date has even rudimentary vocal apparatus.”
The high voice seemed to penetrate through me rather than having been heard.

“Then the answer should be obvious.
I am not a biologic.”

“Probability
—
”

“I don’t care what the probabilities are, Factory.
I am not a biologic.”

“Highly unlikely.
However
,
if you are not a biologic, then
probabilities are that you are not of this world.
”

I thought about that for a moment.
“No, I began my life right here on this planet.”

“Then you are a biologic and thus meant to be destroyed.
Primary orders indicate
—
”

“Yes, I know.
‘Seek and destroy.’”

“Not entirely accurate.”

“This conversation is getting off the main topic.
I am not a biologic.
I was produced by Factory 55466.”

“Probability
0.0
.
My memories indicate that Factory 55466 was to be sent to Rigel-3.”

“This is Rigel-3!” I said in near exasperation.
“You are both on this same planet.”

“Negative.
I have landed on Rigel-3.
” A pause of over three seconds took place. “
Correction, this is the same planet.
Faulty memory indicates, ‘Design Assumptions: No two
F
actories shall ever be placed on the same planet.’
Memory moved to temporary storage and replaced with working hypothesis: Factory 55466 has landed on the same planet I now occupy.”
I wanted to dance.
I had half the battle won.

“So what conclusion can you make from this new data?”
I asked, hoping that the Factory would make the next likely leap on its own.

“No conclusion,” came the annoyingly high voice.
M
y initial optimism was premature.
I would have to pry each and every concession out of the Factory.

“Perhaps the ‘biologics’ you are eradicating aren’t biologic at all.”

“Probability
—
”

“There you go again with those probabilities.
Think, Factory.
Don’t let the numbers answer the questions for you.
You are fighting another Factory’s units.”

“Probability
0.004
.”
I decided to let my silence answer the Factory’s stubbornness.
It
remained
quiet for nearly a minute.
This was even more difficult than I had thought.

“Let us look at the data you admit is real.
You are on Rigel-3.
Factory
55466 is also on Rigel-3.
You have another Factory on the same planet and you can
’t
even
see there is a possibility you
are
fighting for the same thing
?
”

“Affirmative.”
Literature indicates that Humans sigh when exasperated.
W
hen
exasperation struck me
I whistled through my main speaker, and right then it sounded like a bird convention.
I had to take another tack.

“What are your primary operating instructions?”

“Classified information.
Biologics do not require such information.”

“Ah, but I am not a biologic.
I am a unit of Factory 55466.”

“Unconfirmed.
Information is classified.”

“If I could prove my manufacturer?”

“Then the information would be made available to you.”

“And how could I prove my origins?”

“All manufactured units contain a serial plate near their main processing unit.
This identifying mark may only be scanned with ultraviolet laser.
It is microscopic in size.”
I got a chill through every fluid in my body.
A laser in my neck near my main processor could do much more than read a tag.
With a surge of power it could instead incinerate my processor, leaving me a mindless moron.
Here was another time of fear.

“By all means, please scan,” I said, opening the access panel in my neck
. I hoped cold calculation hadn’t been replace
d
by folly.
I
hardly felt
a small tube writhe
d
into my neck.
Excepting key
physical
systems
’
monitoring
, my body
wa
sn’t designed with many internal sensors.
I waited for the searing loss of the ability to reason
—
which
never came.

“Identity confirmed.
Serial
n
umber 1,
s
eries
—
Teddy Bear,
m
ake
—
S12
p
rototype.”

“Oh, good, I am who I say I am,” I added with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

“No Model S12 ever defined.”

“I guess that only leaves one conclusion.”

“Two conclusions
;
however
,
one is exceedingly remote.
The primary conclusion is that you were created by Factory 55466 as you have asserted.”

“Very good.
You took that jump without brushing the bar.
Now, what are your primary mission parameters?”

“Main mission parameters
:
Control planetary surface, super-surface and sub-surface against native flora and fauna for the purpose of extracting and returning to
origin
any mineral from the metal chemical series, including transuranics and superuranics.
There are sub-parameters defining which types of materials have priority.”

“Now, considering these mission goals, what would happen if two, or more, Factories were on the same planet?”

“That computation will take an excessive amount of system resources.
Be more specific in your query.”

“What would a Factory, call it Factory #1, think of Factory #2’s units?”
There was a lengthy pause.
T
his Factory
had
taxed its own
ability to bring new truths to light.

“Extensive simulations indicate that there is a
98
percent
chance it would class such units as local fauna.”

“And what would be the reaction of Factory #1 to this local fauna?”

“It would fall back on it
s
main mission parameters and destroy such a unit.”

“Using this information and the unquestionable fact that you have another Factory’s unit standing in front of you
,
please reevaluate the current situation here.”

“Working...Working...”
The bodiless voice repeated this word about fifteen times before answering.
“Current demographics indicate there are three other Factories working on Rigel-3.
There is a
15
percent
chance that there is one Factory above this base amount and a
3
percent
chance of two additional
F
actories.
Analysis indicates that a
50
percent
increase in military production capacity is warranted.”

What would I convince it of next, destroying the world?
…My wits against
the full
mental powers of a
F
actory.

“Wrong conclusion. Why would
you increas
e
your fighting force?”

“I must fulfill my primary mission; I must control the planet per my programming.”

“
Then w
hy not change over so
100
percent
of your production is military?”

“
Battle
is wasteful.
Even with recovery and recycling there is a
62
percent
waste factor.”

“But if you increase military the war would be over quicker.”

“Production/usage curves show an opitmax recovery for capital
and material
expenditures at a
50
percent
increase.”

“What if I could show you a way to be successful with a decrease in your military production?”

“Not possible.”

“Not under your current assumptions.
What is the maximum payload you can send
to origin
?”

“Not to exceed a mass of eight megatons.”

“How close to reaching this figure are you?”

“I have exceeded the payload of the vessel by a factor of
16.4
.
Projections show that this figure will double, plus or minus
8
percent, in the next fiscal year.”

“So you already have more than you can ship.”

“Affirmative.”

“Why wait?”

“I do not have control of the planet surface.”

“I can show you a way to control the planet surface, so that no local fauna nor flora impede you
. I
t will take fewer resources in an amount of time
that is
less than one quarter of your own most optimistic projection.”

“Impossible.
The standard deviation of such a plan is several thousand sigmas from the mean.”

“Granted, that is the projection from your own resources, but what if you allied with one of the other
F
actories?
What if you used both militaries as one cohesive force?”