Expedition Westward

  ***

  Winston and Star sat in small, hard chairs opposite Colonel Reyes’ desk. The chairs seemed fashioned to discomfit any human occupants, but they presented the robots with no particular difficulties. Lieutenant Poole stood in her usual spot behind the Colonel. Her eyes were suspicious slits focused on Star.

  Nice to see you again, too, Star thought.

  Colonel Reyes directed his first questions at Winston.

  “How do you know Dr. Rackenfauz?” he said with unnecessary gruffness.

  “He was an associate of my late master, Dr. Anna Horvath,” Winston replied. “They met at the university in Mech City.”

  “Did he design you?” Reyes asked.

  “No, sir,” Winston said. “My design team perished in the final plague – along with everyone else at the Robotics Development Institute.”

  He’d added the last remark in an attempt to divert the discussion away from Mech City. It would never occur to Reyes that a thriving robot community existed around the RDI, and Winston was not about to fill him in.

  “Uh huh,” the colonel said.

  “I am a special order scholar model,” Winston added. “As part of the ‘Walking Library of Alexandria’ project, approximately 1.9 million volumes of human art, literature, history, and language were downloaded into my memory banks, plus ...”

  Winston talked on about his mission to preserve the human cultural heritage, but he could tell that Reyes wasn’t really listening. The colonel’s eyes kept moving from Winston to Star, then reluctantly back again.

  “That’s all very interesting,” Reyes said when Winston had finished his account. “I’ll have our database manager speak with you later.”

  “Yes, sir,” Winston said.

  The colonel shifted his attention to Star. His manner became much softer, almost congenial. Poole stiffened.

  “You were designed by Dr. Che?” the colonel asked.

  “Yes,” Star said. “I was his life’s work.”

  Reyes nodded, ruminating. Star glanced quickly up at Poole and offered a friendly smile which was not reciprocated.

  “Then, perhaps Dr. Che would be more inclined to listen to your opinions over those of other ... life forms,” Reyes said.

  “Perhaps,” Star said.

  Reyes cleared his throat, indicating that it was time to get down to the day’s real business.

  “I’d like Rackenfauz and Che to help us with security measures,” he said, including Winston in the conversation now, “but they are hesitant to cooperate.”

  “I heard them voice their objections yesterday,” Winston said.

  “You see,” Reyes continued, “more people are coming into the city all the time. Some of them are pretty rough characters – survivalist whackos, religious nuts, desperado types – people who found refuge from the final plague in remote areas.”

  “That is an obvious problem,” Winston said.

  “Almost all of the normal people got wiped out,” Reyes said, “and there’s only a small number of us off worlders – us ‘space invaders,’ if you will – to keep order.”

  Winston considered asking just how many ‘space invaders’ there might be, but he dismissed the thought. The colonel would surely not give an accurate tally. Instead, Winston merely remarked:

  “Your position does appear to be somewhat tenuous, Colonel.”

  Reyes shifted in his chair and adjusted his gun belt, collecting himself for his next maneuver. The man lacked all subtly, Winston determined. He was used to ordering others around and getting instant obedience, but now he was confronted with people who didn’t like to take orders. It ‘stuck in his craw’ as Dr. Horvath would have put it.

  “You’re obviously a model of advanced intelligence, Winston,” the colonel said. “You must understand how terrible it would be if the lower element of humans took over.”

  “I fully understand,” Winston said. “Public order is the top priority.”

  “Then you’ll speak to Dr. Rackenfauz on my behalf?” Reyes said. “That is, on the behalf of all intelligent beings?”

  “I don’t really know what I could say to him,” Winston replied. “He is a very stubborn individual.”

  Reyes suddenly lost his cool. He jerked himself to his feet, banging a fist on the desk.

  “Damn it, I must have those combat robots!”

  Winston recoiled in his tiny chair. Reyes calmed himself and sat down again on his plush, leather upholstered one.

  “By that I mean robots of high intelligence,” Reyes said. “Similar to yourself, Winston, only with enhanced security capabilities.”

  Poole broke in: “The sooner Rackenfauz and Che agree to our request, the sooner you can all get to work at the RDC.”

  She gave Star a knowing look, eyebrow cocked. Star nodded.

  Reyes glanced up at Poole with a ‘Did I ask your opinion?’ expression. Poole placed her hands behind her back and stood ramrod straight in her shapeless coveralls.

  “Well, I could certainly broach the subject with Professor Rackenfauz,” Winston said. “I am in general agreement with your position, Colonel.”

  “Good, good! That’s all I ask,” the colonel said. “Shall we talk with them now?”

  “Certainly,” Winston said.

  Reyes pushed a button on his desk. The door opened, and two guards entered with Rackenfauz and Che. Star’s heart leaped at the sight of Jerry Che. Not even the colonel’s intimidating bulk could dampen the excitement she felt.

  The colonel stood and faced the guards. “That’ll be all, men.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The guards saluted and left, closing the door behind them. Reyes turned his attention to the robotics technicians.

  “Gentlemen!” he said, trying to play the jovial host. “I hope you’re doing well.”

  “Sure thing, Colonel,” Rackenfauz said, “never better.”

  “I thought we could all have a little chat,” Reyes said. “Please come and sit down.”

  Rackenfauz spoke to Che in a low voice. “Is this when they start beating us up?”

  Che shrugged.

  They approached Colonel Reyes’ desk and took the indicated seats. The chairs were somewhat more comfortable than the ones assigned to the robots.

  47. The Heat Increases

  “I was just discussing with Winston here the concept of advanced robots, like himself, working with us to help maintain security,” Reyes said.

  A look of horror shot across Rackenfauz’s face.

  “That’s the worst thing we could do!” he cried.

  Reyes’ eyebrows went up with surprise. He adjusted his gun belt again, controlled his temper.

  “Oh, and why is that, Professor?” he asked.

  “There’d be no way to control a robot of such high intelligence,” Rackenfauz said, “especially if it possessed combat capabilities.”

  “Please explain,” Reyes said.

  Rackenfauz wiped a handkerchief over his bald pate. Despite the moderate temperature in the mess hall, he was sweating profusely.

  “For decades robotic design parameters were strictly controlled by law and custom,” he said. “Robots were hard wired against injuring human beings, against operating power machinery, against using firearms.”

  “Yes, and?” Reyes said.

  “Since the end of the old world, though, everything’s gone to hell,” Rackenfauz said. “The programmed restrictions have broken down. We’ve got rogue machines now who don’t hesitate to attack human beings. I had to shoot two of them myself.”

  “I see,” Reyes said, maintaining his reasonable tone.

  “At least the old robots were fairly delicate,” Rackenfauz said. “You could blow them apart with small arms fire – but combat machines, armored and ruggedized – that’s a whole other story. If they went rogue, there’d be hell to pay!”

  “Well, then,” Reyes said. “Why not design robots of much lower intelligence that could only obey orders? Such machines would lack the
capability of independent action.”

  “So, what’s dumber than a mech bird?” Rackenfauz shot back. “I made thousands of them and released them individually. Somehow, I have no idea how, they banded together and merged their little pea brains into a powerful single mind and will. They act in perfect unison – they can be extremely dangerous.”

  Dr. Che cleared his throat. “May I add something, Edgar?”

  “Be my guest,” Rackenfauz said, mopping his brow.

  “There seems to be some aspect of universal intelligence at work here,” Che said, “an almost spiritual force.”

  Reyes couldn’t suppress a mocking snort.

  “Seriously, Colonel,” Dr. Che said. “Perhaps if you came from an Eastern culture, as I do, the concept would not sound quite so outlandish.”

  Rackenfauz perched urgently on the edge of his chair. His reedy voice piped up again.

  “Intelligence can’t be controlled,” he said. “Once it’s out there, it’s going to evolve. We can’t tell how. Our mistake was in thinking that we understood everything. We didn’t know shit!”

  “Well, then isn’t it a matter of doing further research?” Reyes said. “Learn from past mistakes, as it were.”

  “Perhaps,” Dr. Rackenfauz said. “If I had several years and a large team of the best minds in robotics science.” He gestured helplessly to himself and Dr. Che. “But there’s just the two of us, Colonel.”

  Reyes leaned forward – hands outspread, calm, reasonable.

  “Perhaps you’re overstating the difficulties,” he said.

  Rackenfauz shook his head emphatically.

  “If anything, I’m understating them,” He said. “Believe me, Colonel, if you put together a force of robotic warriors, it won’t be long before they control everything.”

  “Well, then, how about if the ‘robotic warriors,’ as you call them, had no independent intelligence at all?” Reyes said.

  He was beginning to sound desperate.

  “They’d just be remote-controlled drones,” Poole added, “similar to the observation aircraft we operate now.”

  Rackenfauz shook his head again. The bald protuberance seemed ready to twist off from the violent motion.

  “How long before some fool decided the robots would work better with just a little bit of independent intelligence added?” he said. “‘What’s the harm?’ he’d ask. But the end result would be a mind meld of all the combat machines and the final destruction of humanity!”

  Colonel Reyes threw up his hands and flung his bulk back into his chair.

  “Don’t you see the danger, Colonel?” Rackenfauz said. “We’d be designing robots to kill humans right from the get go. It wouldn’t take them long to seize control. Who could stop them – your little band of space invaders?”

  Winston listened, awe struck, to Dr. Rackenfauz’s arguments. The logic was flawless, profound, the workings of a truly great intellect – despite the occasional crude phraseology.

  After long association with the Professor’s eccentricities, Winston could not help but regard him as something of a crank, a ‘screwball’ as Liggett had put it. But now Rackenfauz was displaying the brilliance upon which his reputation was based.

  “If I might add something at this juncture,” Winston said, “I’d just like to say that ...”

  His voice trailed off under an exasperated glower from Colonel Reyes.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Winston said.

  May as well keep my trap shut, he thought, nobody here wants the opinion of a ‘robo-man.’

  He’d wanted to corroborate Dr. Rackenfauz’s statements about the scrappers, relate his own experiences with these fearsome individuals. But the strictures of the newly reestablished hierarchy forbade this. Winston was, by no means, regarded as an equal by these humans – despite his superior intelligence and the wealth of knowledge stored in his memory banks.

  Worse yet, Winston was starting to believe in his own inferiority again. He’d have to thrash things out in his mind later. When there was time and the circumstances were not so intense.

  The colonel rose from his chair and straightened his uniform officiously. He looked at Poole, then back at the group seated before him. He forced an unconvincing smile onto his face.

  “Well, thank you, gentlemen, for this frank exchange of views,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us a moment, Major Poole and myself would like to confer in chambers.”

  “Take your time,” Dr. Rackenfauz said. “We’ll wait.”

  Reyes and Poole walked stiffly to the doors of the adjoining kitchen and pushed them open. The doors flapped decisively closed behind them.

  48. True Religion Arrives

  The chief acolyte paused in the center of the avenue and cast feverish eyes about the sprawling, empty cityscape. Abandoned streets, flanked by low commercial buildings, shot off into the distance. An acrid, dusty taste burdened the air. Except for a light breeze pushing along bits of rubbish, silence reigned. The overall effect was nightmarish.

  “Sodom and Gomorrah at last!” he exalted.

  The chief acolyte thrust his arms skyward and flung his head back. The infected gunshot wound on his face throbbed violent red.

  “Thank you, Father!” he shouted. “I have arrived to exact your holy vengeance!”

  He looked cautiously around, chiding himself for his outburst. No telling what kind of evil creature might be lurking in these vacant streets ... like that one over there!

  Assault rifle at the ready, the chief acolyte approached a towering demon spawn standing alone in the center of the pavement like an uprooted statue. The thing had obviously run out of power and had simply halted where it was.

  Disposal Service was written on hits back.

  “A corpse slinger, eh?” the chief acolyte snarled, looking up into the abomination’s blank face.

  It did not respond.

  “Pretty damned smug for a demon spawn.”

  The chief acolyte reversed his assault rifle and swung the butt up hard against the creature’s chin. The thing tumbled backwards and crashed onto its back.

  “Good / morning / afternoon / evening – sir / ma’am / people ...” it began to recite.

  “Shut up!”

  The chief acolyte kicked the thing’s head – wielding the same boot he’d used to disable the biker gang infidel. The recorded voice abruptly stopped.

  “That’s better.”

  The chief acolyte began to laugh. Several meters behind him, Pam and Susie exchanged frightened looks and drew closer together.

  “He’s getting worse,” Susie muttered.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Pam said.

  As they’d gotten nearer to this vast, abandoned city, their leader had become increasingly erratic – babbling to himself, issuing murderous threats against the ‘blue demon’ and his ‘evil hussy’ companion. Sometimes he carried on full-blown conversations between himself and that messiah guy who’d got tossed out the window back at the castle.

  During these exchanges, the chief acolyte spoke his own lines in his usual grating tones. The messiah’s voice came out of his mouth smooth and insinuating, like a huckster trying to sell you a bad used vehicle. It actually sounded like two different men talking to each other. Maximum creepy.

  Worst of all was the rumbling, ominous bass of the ‘Heavenly Father,’ who sometimes joined the discussions. He was the most depraved and blood thirsty of the three, constantly advocating violent action, torture, murder. Pam decided that if this character really was in charge of heaven, then hell had to be the better option.

  She wondered how long it would take for this whack job to lose it altogether. When would the Heavenly Father issue a lethal command to him? Pam could easily envision the chief acolyte turning on them with his assault rifle and shooting them to pieces. Or else pulling out his crotch pistol and – gun in one hand, dick in the other – blast them into eternity.

  For his part, the chief acolyte had no violent intenti
ons toward the women – yet. He focused his mind entirely on Sodom and Gomorrah spreading all around him like a vast charnel house. He was familiar with places like this. Back when he was known as that loathsome individual, Charlie Camp, he’d lived within such vast urban confines, scrabbling to make a living, ant-like, just as millions of others did.

  Then came the blessed day when he had first beheld the Messiah preaching on a street corner, offering redemption to the unholy city. He’d rushed forward to receive it while the others continued along their path to damnation.

  The chief acolyte turned back toward the women, noting the way they recoiled from his gaze. Yes, they were sinful types only partially convinced by his preaching. Were the Messiah still in this world, He would have ‘converted’ them already – indulging their sexual perversities to the full until they cried out for mercy and redemption.

  But such efforts were beyond a lesser man like himself. He was only an instrument of the divine will. Besides, sexual intercourse disgusted him. He’d not indulged in it for many years. He was in awe of the Messiah’s many sacrifices in this area.

  The two women clung to each other. Sister Pamela attempted a smile and a respectful nod.

  Maybe I should slay them now, before they can revert to their old ways in this den of sin.

  He touched his throbbing facial injury – his sign of divine favor, his reverse mark of Cain.

  No ... better to wait.

  Divine revelation would tell him what to do with that lustful pair trailing behind him. He was ragged and worn from his sacred journey. A non-believer might think that he was crazy. But he wasn’t crazy! The time would soon come when all would understand that. He turned back toward Gomorrah and resumed his trek.