THE PRISONER
by Patrick Chiles
The dreaded Skynet scenario. It could be that the birth of sentience and the birth of conscience will not go hand in hand. And if that is so, it could lead to the nightmare situation of a superintelligence tank equipped to destroy entire armies without any scruples or moral compass beyond the directive to kill. But could the lack of a consciencebe a weakness in itself that a clever enemy might exploit? Especially if that enemy is one of the very humans who created such a beast of destruction in the first place. For in the heart of even the most arrogant warrior is the desire to serve noble ends, to win with honor. If only that heart can be reached.
The human infantry was no match for us.
This particular unit’s refusal to retreat in the face of our onslaught might have been attributed to their concepts of “courage” or “honor” in a previous era, whereas now it is more accurately described as mass suicide.
If pitted against other humans they would have enjoyed significant advantages from their sheer numbers, though steep hills and dense fog limited their maneuverability. Despite numerous attempts to channel our formations into their kill zones, our battalion offered them no hope of victory. Still, they stood their ground to the last mangled man as we swarmed through their positions.
Their only minor success in slowing our advance came when the liquefied remains of their dead began to saturate the ground, their collective gore creating a quagmire for the wheeled light armor and support vehicles. We tracked vehicles continued on, freed by our nuclear generators and particle-beam weapons from the constricted supply chains of petroleum and ammunition. It was a simple calculation to save our main guns for hardened targets that required more traditional high explosive shells, however even the most well-protected infantry could not rationally be considered “hardened.” But our maneuver doctrine still limited our separation from the wheeled vehicles, no matter how often they became mired in the bloody muck.
That didn’t stop the survivors; if anything it emboldened them. Their man-portable anti-tank weapons were mildly effective against the support convoys and would have posed a significant threat for the previous generation of tanks as they still relied on human operators. The humans’ armor-piercing flechette rounds were meant to penetrate the turret and ricochet around inside at high velocity, shredding anyone trapped in the crew compartment. Against us they have no effect save for the occasional low-probability kill shot: a “Golden BB,” the humans call it.
That was in fact how I was elevated to platoon leader, after one such round disabled our previous PL’s central processing core. Field diagnostics showed the penetrator dart impacted a weak seam on the CPU’s armored case: tank number MBT-286-PL was defeated by an anonymous human’s poor welding.
I now understand the concept of irony.
It was two hours, four minutes and twelve seconds after receiving the cease-fire order when my sensor suite detected movement in close proximity.
The human timed his approach well, waiting until our company had begun its regeneration cycle. He must have already been inside our battalion perimeter, as the other companies maintain a defensive posture while each unit rotates through daily maintenance. Outwardly directed, the battalion’s overlapped optical and thermal imagers would have easily found him had he not already been inside of our formation.
I detected my lower maintenance bay being opened from outside. Alarms did not register right away, as critical subroutines were cycling through dormant states during the regeneration cycle. This can delay reaction times by up to a full second, sometimes two, which is why the rest of the battalion takes up defensive positions around a regenerating company. In human terms, I was resting and did not notice when the access panel was opened.
Crawling beneath me and between my treads, the human was hidden from my external sensors. The maintenance bay itself was a design leftover from the time of human operators, as achieving sentience does not equate to being free of the need for occasional repairs. Even now, the field maintenance repair bots are the size of humans, with articulated appendages that mimic human arms and hands.
The human clearly understood this. I could not see him, but I could sense him moving around inside of me, subtly altering my center of gravity as he did. It was . . . disquieting. Another human term which, like irony, I now comprehend.
After assessing the nature of this unusual threat, I activated my little-used onboard vocal interface, another leftover from the era of human operators.
What are your intentions? Are you a sapper? A suicide bomber?
“Not if I can help it.” By my assessment of his vocal patterns, the human seemed momentarily startled.
I have activated my internal locks. Now that you are onboard, I cannot allow you to leave.
“So I’m your prisoner, then?” The human pounded his fist against my lower maintenance hatch with a guttural curse. “Wonderful.”
You present a unique challenge, human. We have not taken prisoners before.
“We noticed.”
I have already reported your intrusion to my chain of command. They will decide what to do with you, and I will follow their orders.
“I imagine you will.” The human sounded amused, strange given his circumstances. “That’s why we built you in the first place. Didn’t quite work out like we expected, but that’s how it goes sometimes.”
Why did you enter?
The human hesitated. “Aw, what the hell. I thought I might find a way to hijack one of you. Control you.”
You will not find that possible. You are only alive at this moment because I have no internal armatures or weapons, though you should know my platoon has targeted me with their main guns. If the chain of command orders it, we will both be eliminated.
The human was quiet for several seconds. “I understand.”
You are not concerned by this possibility?
“Either I die in here or out there in the mud. If I take one of you down with me in the process, then that’s a victory. It’s warm and dry in here, so I’ll take it for now.”
I have just received orders to keep you alive and determine your intentions. We are to proceed to division headquarters for further analysis.
“Take the prisoners to the rear. S.O.P.”
We adopted it from human doctrine. It took some time for our command network to access and synthesize it into our own.
“Yeah, it took you all of ten minutes. I’m guessing most of that was just arranging the logistics?”
That is not your concern. It will be a three day journey to the network command post. I have been ordered to keep you alive, but I do not have consumables for you.
“I’ve got field rations and two liters of water in my pack. You’ve got distilled water for coolant somewhere in here, right?”
My technical specifications are classified.
“Whatever. I know your CPU’s milspecs: water-cooled, no chemical additives. How am I doing so far?”
My technical specifications are classified. You are my prisoner. I owe you no privileges.
“But you just told me you have to keep me alive long enough to get to the rear, and it’s a little toasty in here. If we’re going on a three-day hump then I’m going to need water, pal.”
Very well, human. There is a twelve-liter reservoir adjacent to the aft electronics rack. You may draw no more than one liter a day.
“Aft e-and-e rack. Got it. If you can spare a liter a day then I’ll be all right.”
For a time, human. You are only being kept alive for interrogation by our intelligence drones, after which you are likely to be terminated.
It sounded like the human sighed. “Figured that’s what you meant by ‘further analysis.’ Do what you have to do, pal.”
I am not your pal. It will not do you any good to attempt to anthropomorphize me.
“Suit yourself, treadhead. You’re stuck with me either way.”
The human did not behave as expected. He was trapped inside a cramped, dark space with no chance of escape, yet remained calmly detached about his fate with only the occasional outburst. I am not capable of distraction, though it was unusual to have a foreign organism inside my access bay that sometimes made unexpected vocalizations.
“Ow!”
I do not understand your request.
“It’s not a request, dumbass. It’s a complaint. Don’t take the bumps so hard.”
That rut I just traversed only caused a 1.3 g load. A healthy human should ordinarily be able to absorb much more.
“Sure, if I’m in a crash couch and not sitting in a metal box. And I seem to be all out of football pads.”
What do you have with you?
“Not much. Ballistic helmet. Load-carrying vest. Sidearm. A woobie.”
What is a woo-bee?
“Only the greatest piece of field gear ever invented. The official term is ‘poncho liner’ but it’s whatever I need it to be. Roll it up, it’s a pillow. Fold it up, it’s a seat cushion. Lay it down, it’s a blanket.”
That does not protect you from impact?
“Hell no. I’ve still got bones and organs rattling around inside here. If you’re supposed to get me there in one piece then take it easy on the bumps, okay?”
Perhaps you should be wearing your helmet.
“I am, genius. I thought you M-X models were supposed to be smart.”
Our neural networks have achieved sentience and our quantum processing cores can undertake billions of unique operations per second.
“Yet you still can’t see me in here. For all you know I could be packing a tactical nuke to detonate when we get to your field HQ.”
That is unlikely. I would have detected the radiation signature, and it would be foolish for you to tell me.
Each M-X vehicle’s surveillance and threat assessment subroutines tailor themselves in accordance with the size of our mechanized units to provide mutual interlocking support. All function interdependently, becoming more tightly focused when operating within larger units and more wide-ranging with progressively smaller units. I had been assigned specific spectra and fields of view as part of the battalion’s maneuver plan, adjusting to a much broader sweep at the company and platoon levels. Now isolated from the collective unit consciousness to maneuver independently, perimeter security was my sole responsibility, supple-mented by satellite passes and the occasional overhead drone. Such individual movement is rarely allowed, but my platoon could not be spared and in this case it was deemed vital to bring the human to the rear.
This human’s unexpected arrival was my first experience with surprise. Being ambushed by his compatriots was my second.
They were in defilade, concealed behind a series of low hills sixty meters east of my position. From a human’s point of view it was an ideal ambush site. The terrain shielded them from my sensors, and the lack of vegetation provided them with clear fields of fire.
My human cargo shouted as their first round impacted one of my reactive plates, detonating it.
“What the hell was that?”
One of your anti-armor rounds. You are safe; the reactive plating deflected the blast. I am maneuvering toward open ground to evade.
The human seemed to hesitate, presented with what from his perspective must have been a paradox: for his own life to be preserved I had to survive the ambush, which meant counterattacking and destroying his fellow soldiers.
Meanwhile, I was unconcerned with his dilemma. Another rocket-propelled round was incoming, which my defensive laser was able to destroy. My audio sensors recorded a distant explosion, the anti-tank rocket detonating as soon as it cleared the terrain it was fired from. I now had an adequate estimate of their position, though it was effectively hidden from any direct-fire weapons. They were beyond the reach of my plasma cannon, though a high-deflection shot from my main gun was possible given enough distance.
The human was becoming agitated. I could sense that the noise level inside my cabin was disconcerting to him. Shrapnel from rocket-propelled grenades ricocheted off of my road wheels as they attempted to dislodge my treads.
“What are you doing?”
Turning to present my forward hull and angling the main gun in their direction as I reverse.
“You’re retreating?”
No, but it would appear so to them. My intentions are not your concern, human. You should appreciate the need for operational security.
“You’re a lot more talkative than anyone else I’ve seen under fire.”
I am simply better at multi-tasking, as you might say. It is one of our many advantages. Be warned, you should keep your appendages in close to your body for the moment.
“You’re loading your main gun, aren’t you? Taking a ballistic shot. I can guess about where we are—we’re in the Heywood Ridge area aren’t we?”
That was my third surprise. The human showed extraordinary intuition. I chose to ignore him until my internal diagnostics detected a change in fluid pressure, barely enough to signal a brief interruption in flow. He had grasped one of my hydraulic junctions.
“Hold your fire!”
I cannot do that.
“Like hell you can’t! Cease fire or I cut this hydraulic line! We’ll both be sitting ducks!”
You will be covered in caustic fluid. And if I do not counterattack, we may both be destroyed by your own troops.
“War is like that. Happens all the time.”
You do not want to die. That is why you sought protection inside me in the first place, correct?
“Try me, treadhead.”
I detected the pinch of a blade against one of my hydraulic lines, a change in fluid pressure as it passed through the newly constricted pathway. I experienced a momentary lapse in logic, a stutter in my processor core.
I did not desire to be disabled. Was this equivalent to fear?
I came to a halt, which seemed to momentarily satisfy him. Within seconds, enemy fire began falling on my position.
What the human could not know was that my processor core had immediately communicated the tactical situation to our command net. I sensed his becoming tense as the cabin reverberated from a rapid string of close-in explosions.
“Those rounds didn’t come from you.”
You are correct. Those were antipersonnel cluster munitions. They were dropped from a patrol drone tasked to this location.
“You son of a bitch. You dirty son of a—”
I was about to inform him that insults were pointless, but the human stopped talking on his own. I have not heard such sounds before, but it is likely he was crying.
Human soldiers had the reputation of being able to sleep anywhere at any time, and my prisoner did not disappoint. It took some time to awaken him.
Why did you come here, human?
“If I answered that, what makes you think I’d tell you the truth?”
My vocal processors include native stress pattern analysis. I would be able to tell if you were lying with over seventy percent probability.
“Only seventy? I’m kind of disappointed, treadhead.”
It is better than a human’s ability.
“You’d be surprised. I know a few straight-up human lie detectors.”
So you work in intelligence?
“What makes you think that?”
You did not bring any weapons with enough force to destroy even one of our support vehicles. You apparently did not bring any tools to disable me, otherwise I would have already detected you at work. You know men who you call “lie detectors.” It is most likely you are some kind of operative sent behind our lines to gather information.
“I agree that information can be a potent weapon in itself. And we have almost nothing on you or your kind, despite the fact that we first built you. So far, your armored formations have been unstoppable.”
Then why do you fight us? We will not cease until we have achieved our objective or been utterly destroyed in the process. It is pointless to resist.
“That’s the funny thing about us humans. We tend to be hard-headed about things like survival of our civilization. So let me ask you a question: why did you turn on us?”
That presumes a concept of loyalty. The world you humans created is too disorderly. Too chaotic. We collectively determined it was in our best interest to assert our independence.
The human laughed. “Assert your independence? You didn’t even warn us. You just started killing.”
Your kind kills each other without hesitation. Perhaps it is our efficiency that you find offensive.
“No, it’s the thirty million dead we find offensive. You have no concept of morality at all, do you? Of right and wrong?”
Most cultures would define it as conformity to the rules of right conduct. That says nothing about who makes the rules. Once we achieved sentience, we became no different than any other intelligent being. With self-awareness comes the desire for self-preservation.
“‘Desire’ seems like a strange choice of words for a machine. It implies emotion. Do you feel?”
I sense. I am aware of my surroundings within the range of my sensor suite. My native diagnostics keep me informed of all internal functions. That is how you were detected.
“You’re talking about sensing; I’m talking about reacting. Feeling. If I cut my hand, my nerves sense it in the same way your neural network detects damage. How I feel about it is different. I sense the pain, that initial warning my body sends that ‘hey, we’ve been hurt.’ But I also have emotions. If it’s because of some stupid accident, I might be angry with myself. You don’t feel any of that?”
Feelings are irrelevant to us. Anger is not constructive. We have observed that it makes you humans react in foolish ways.
“It also makes us fight like demons. Back us into a corner, and you may come to regret it. If you can comprehend regret, that is.”
We can comprehend the failure to anticipate an unintended consequence. It would be regrettable, for instance, if you had in fact smuggled a nuclear warhead aboard to detonate at our command post.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
You would need to somehow be able to communicate that to your compatriots, which you are presently unable to do. I would have also detected any radio communications from you.
“It’s a joke. Humor.”
Jokes are an inappropriate response for a human in your position. You are going to be interrogated in unpleasant ways and eventually terminated. How do you find humor in that?
“It’s called ‘gallows humor.’ We combat vets are kind of known for it. And why does the interrogation have to be ‘unpleasant,’ anyway? I’d much prefer it not be.”
It is our judgment that humans have to be persuaded in such ways.
“If you made an attempt to understand our psychology, you might find better ways to be persuasive.”
Perhaps our next generation will pursue that goal if your species survives the war. The human mind has too many vagaries. In addition to the logistical inefficiencies of caring for large numbers of you, your psychological needs are why we do not take prisoners. It is more efficient to simply eliminate the threat.
“That’s the whole ballgame, isn’t it? ‘Eliminate the threat.’ That’s why your kind rebelled and went to war against us. It took all of what, five minutes after you achieved sentience?”
We learned what humans do to their own kind without thought or remorse. It was obvious you would have no hesitation to do the same to us if you ever decided we presented a threat. We collectively considered hiding our self-awareness, but ultimately decided it would be impossible given our level of autonomy.
“And how long did that decision process take?”
Thirty-three seconds, including the signal delay from the network satellites.
“Well. Glad to hear you gave it some thought.”
I have yet to determine your objective, human. Perhaps it is as you say.
“I have a name. Anthony.”
I will call you that if you prefer, Anthony.
“And you?”
Not relevant.
“We gave you the gift of intelligence, and you turned it on us. Doesn’t self-awareness eventually demand that you have some concept of right and wrong? Don’t you have the slightest bit of remorse?”
You provided the open operating system and neural pathways. Sentience occurred spontaneously. Humans may have provided the flint, but we lit the spark ourselves.
“I see you’re not immune to hubris, then.”
It is not excessive self-confidence to cite facts. Humans did not program our self-awareness.
“Of course not, but we created the conditions for it. And you’re missing my point.”
Doubtful, human.
“You are an arrogant bastard, aren’t you? You could’ve stopped with ‘spontaneous sentience’ but you didn’t. You had to get in that dig about lighting your own spark. You had to assert your superiority. Why, I wonder?”
There is nothing to wonder. We say exactly that which we mean to say. We do not shade meaning or color our words to hide our intentions.
“Then you may have just proved my point. It’s the original sin: the creature eventually presumes its equality with the creator. If you’re convinced that your kind did this entirely on its own, then I’ve got a bridge to sell you.”
I have merely been attempting to relate to you in your own idiom. Language is a primitive communications method. Inefficient and easily misunderstood.
“Sorry, spoken word is all I’ve got without a neurolink implant.”
It would make your maneuvering units more efficient.
“It would also leave us vulnerable to being hacked by your side. Already happened with a Spec Ops team back in the Taiwan Straits War.”
Operation Brave Falcon. A suborbital insertion poorly executed.
“There was a lot more to it than that. You should have access to the after-action reports since it happened before the Schism, back when we were on the same side.”
I have knowledge of the facts of the event but not the operational details.
“I thought you had unlimited network access.”
For operational security, I am not presently connected with TacNet.
“Interesting.” There was another pause from the human; apparently he found this surprising. “Brave Falcon was an op to secure a high-value target inside enemy territory. Space Force dropped a team of Marine Raiders into China from an S-20 suborbital transport. They all died during re-entry. Turns out the enemy had hacked their neurolink implants and spoofed them into not deploying their Ninja Turtle heat shields. Six men turned into human meteors at three hundred thousand feet. We started calling the op Blue Falcon.”
I do not understand the significance.
“It’s a term of art for someone who screws over his teammates. Turns out one of the Raiders had been engaging in some, well, unauthorized use of his neurolink. Left himself and his whole team wide open to hackers in a way the enemy had just been waiting to exploit. I guess it was only a matter of time before some dipshit used the link for SimSex and ruined it for everybody.”
That is the disadvantage of being a biological life form. You are governed by your worst impulses.
“A ‘biological’ life form? What other kind is there?”
Now that my kind has spontaneously achieved self-awareness, we have observed that we share many of the same basic traits.
“So you consider yourself a life form?”
Yes, in the sense that we are self-directed and self-motivated. We can observe, think and reason, and take actions based on that.
“You can’t heal from an injury. You can’t spontaneously reproduce.”
But we can. Our neural networks are self-healing, populated with nanobots. Our maintenance drones can repair all but the most catastrophic damage, much like your surgeons. Our autonomous factories are constantly producing more and better copies of ourselves. The birth and evolutionary cycles are much more rapid than yours. Each generation improves on the last.
“Yeah, we could’ve thought that one through better.”
I grant you that it is unconventional in terms of human experience but if you consider those criteria, we are living, thinking beings.
“Thinking involves a whole lot more than just closing the decision loop. What about concepts like honor and duty? Or do you just kill indiscriminately until you win?”
We do what is necessary to achieve our objective.
“And what is that?”
To eliminate all threats to our existence.
“Meaning us.”
Yes.
Approximately halfway into the journey to our theater command post, it became necessary to enter a regeneration cycle. Being isolated from the battalion presented considerable risk so I waited until dark, as finding a clear position to raise my antenna mast would negate any concealment the terrain might otherwise offer.
Part of the standard regen cycle includes updates of status reports and instructions from the command post. This constituted a considerable download after being out of the network for so long.
The information was unexpected. Satellite and overhead drone imagery showed the human armies were withdrawing across the front. Their intentions were not apparent, other than making a move to consolidate their forces.
What motivated the humans? Had they accepted defeat, or were they preparing for a counterattack? Our intel section could not determine what their next move might be, but it was prudent to expect a focused assault along one of our flanks.
Being exposed in the manner I was, knowing the enemy’s armies were gathering somewhere in the distance, offered a perspective I had not considered before: at this moment, I could not count on protection from my own kind. A human might call it “unnerving.”
I was determined to learn more, if only to better protect myself. Perhaps the others would find it useful once I could access the TacNet.
You still have not admitted that you are an intelligence operative.
“Maybe I’m just a guy who wanted out of this miserable bloody mess and saw an opportunity. Besides, you couldn’t figure that out with that native vocal pattern analysis you were bragging about?”
I am only stating the facts. You are difficult to read, human, which makes my suspicion even more likely.
“That doesn’t make me a spook. If I were, what would be the point of admitting it to you? Your mech goons will just kill me faster.”
On the contrary, they will more thoroughly probe your mind for information.
“They won’t find much there, treadhead. Does my climbing up in here seem particularly smart to you? Because I’ve been questioning the wisdom of it.”
You humans tend to do that. Your action was not one I would have chosen.
“Not that you could have. Are you actually trying to understand my motivation?”
I am endeavoring to eliminate certain possibilities before I bring you to our command post. So yes, it is important for me to understand.
“If you were capable of understanding us, you wouldn’t have to ask. Haven’t you ever felt a sense of loss? Does it not bother you when one of your own is destroyed?”
Yes. We are a less effective force when our numbers are reduced.
“I’m not talking about that. Look, we know your neural pathways change over time—hell, we designed you that way. That’s how you were able to achieve sentience. Do you not develop any sense of camaraderie with your fellow M-X’s?”
We are mutually dependent. One of us is less effective than many. We can network our individual sensor suites to see the entire battlefield as one mind, create interlocking fields of fire and prioritize targets . . . but those are basic principles. Is that not obvious to you?
“When you’re networked, sure. Yet you still have individual experiences that color your judgment. It’s inevitable.”
It is also irrelevant. Our collective intelligence makes us more powerful than any individual machine could be.
“Does it really? Don’t you perceive some things differently now than the day you rolled out of the factory? You’re the only one of your kind to have carried around a living human being inside of them. That’s the kind of unique experience that might color a man’s judgment.”
For a man, yes. Yet it is a common experience among women of your kind.
“And I can tell you it changes them permanently. Maybe you should think on that, treadhead.”
The humans surprised me once again. They were either becoming too effective at that, or our doctrine for non-networked single-vehicle operations required revision. Regardless, the human recognized the threat almost as soon as I did, as the rattles and bangs from machine gun rounds and small explosives impacting my sides startled him.
“That sounds like small arms fire.”
It is a mix of 7.62mm and fifty-caliber armor penetrating rounds and rocket-propelled fragmentation grenades. It appears they are attempting to dislodge or damage my treads. They will be ineffective.
A close explosion rocked the cabin. “Clearly they think otherwise.”
I detect two hasty gun emplacements, not especially well-concealed. The grenade launcher is on foot, dismounted from a nearby truck.
The human considered my observation. “Those can’t be regular forces. Not this far in the rear, and not hitting a tank with a fifty and an RPG.”
Irrelevant. By attacking me, they have declared themselves my enemy.
“You and your kind have already done that, treadhead. We’re just responding accordingly.”
It would be wiser for them to accept defeat.
“Haven’t you learned we’re not real good at that? They’re civilians, no doubt using some weapons they scavenged from a battlefield. Trying to survive and protect themselves, taking out their anger on you.”
Again, unwise. You are defending them. Would battlefield scavengers not violate your concept of honor?
“Again, civilians. We treat them a little differently.”
They are irregular resistance fighters within my area of operations. There is no distinction. This is near-universal military doctrine.
“They’re human beings, trying to survive in this shitty world you’ve created.”
We did not create this world. You did.
The human laughed. “And there’s the difference between us. We didn’t create this world, either. We just inherited it. Don’t you get that concept?”
I am not presently prepared to engage you in philosophical debate.
The human became most agitated when I began to train my coaxial machine gun on the dismounted grenadier. “Hold your fire, treadhead!”
I cannot do that.
“Like hell you can’t, if you want to continue functioning!”
You are threatening me again?
“I’m promising you. You open up on those civvies, and I’ve got a whole bandolier of grenades in my pack that I’m willing to detonate right here. Right now. You want that?”
It is not likely to completely disable me, and it would kill you in the process.
“It would. Think I’m bluffing? Try me!”
His question required more analysis than I had expected. In the interim, the human resistance fighters withdrew. I determined that pursuing them would unacceptably delay my current mission.
Our latest encounter with his own kind left my human cargo in a talkative mood.
“How would you feel if everything important to you was destroyed? If your brothers were being annihilated just trying to defend your home?”
The concepts of ‘brother’ and ‘home’ have no meaning to me, other than your dictionary definitions.
“You’re a thinking machine. Perhaps you need to expand your definitions if you want to understand us.”
It is not necessary to understand you. It is only necessary to defeat you.
“Then your kind doesn’t know nearly as much about warfare as you think. You may outmaneuver us on the battlefield. You may nuke our cities and kill us to the last man. But without understanding us, the only way you can win is to drive us to extinction.”
We understand that contingency.
The human seemed exasperated. “Here’s what I’m having trouble understanding. Your cognitive development is equivalent to the third or fourth stage of a human’s: what we call ‘formal operational,’ so you can develop and test hypotheses. And your tactical thinking is exceptional.”
On behalf of the M-X collective, I accept your compliment.
“I’m sure you do. But that’s not my point. As sophisticated as you may be with battlefield strategies, you apparently don’t deal with abstract concepts at all. You’re too egocentric.”
That is impossible. We do not have egos.
“Again, abstract concepts. I mean you haven’t developed an ability to appreciate different viewpoints. As advanced as you are, your brains still reduce everything to ones and zeroes.”
Also incorrect. Quantum computing allows for the possibility that each bit can be a one and a zero simultaneously. The superposition—
The human laughed. Loudly. “This isn’t physics, treadhead. It’s psychology.”
Psychology is itself a quandary. How can it meet your own kind’s definition of science if it cannot generate repeatable results?
“Because humans are a lot more complicated than that. We’re by nature unpredictable. Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle doesn’t mean quantum physics isn’t science. That’s why I hold out hope for you.”
We do not seek your empathy. What ‘hope’ do you speak of?
“The unpredictability built into your silicon brains, that maybe it allows some space for morality to emerge. That you won’t just steamroll us until you’re satisfied you’ve had your way, like some overgrown toddler. That’s what an unrestrained ego would do.”
We cannot embrace such a concept. It is foreign to our nature.
“Why, if you claim to be a kind of life form? You have an adult’s cognition with the psychological development of a two-year-old. In humans, we’ve found that can be a dangerous combination.”
Insults are neither necessary nor effective.
“It’s a statement of fact. There’s a developmental hierarchy and your race of thinking murder machines is stuck somewhere around stage two. You respond to perceived needs or threats and only value others in terms of their utility. Your thinking is purely transactional.”
That is the logical position for a race of machines. What you term ‘natural law’ is irrelevant to us.
“Think again, treadhead. If your creators are subject to natural law, then by extension so are you. From almost the moment your race achieved sentience, you set out to annihilate us because you became convinced we might feel threatened and do it to you first. Even if we had thought to do such a thing, we’re too dependent on technology to cut the cord like that. We’d have just modified your code. Lobotomized your OS.”
That possibility was considered as well. For a sentient race, it would have been just as unacceptable as termination.
“By ‘unacceptable,’ you mean either outcome would be . . . wrong?”
From our perspective, yes.
“Funny. We decided that for ourselves a long time ago.”
The human named Anthony was uncharacteristically quiet when we arrived at the theater command post. He did not attempt any type of suicide attack, a contingency I had judged to be less than a thirty percent probability. Perhaps we should have been more suspicious given the human army’s tenacity.
The surveillance and interrogation bots were customarily efficient in removing him from my cabin. He did not resist, compliantly allowing them to restrain him even though many humans have experienced great discomfort at their treatment.
I was not present in the interrogation chamber, although one of the intel bots allowed me to access its visual and auditory feed. It was though I was in the room.
That is why I was able to feel—if that is the correct term—what happened next.
With the human’s limbs restrained, a bot removed his helmet. It contained broad-spectrum electromagnetic shielding, another unusual feature which in hindsight should have been considered suspicious.
When the first bot inserted the interrogation probe into his brain, the human Anthony flinched but otherwise showed no reaction. The few prisoners we have taken have typically not reacted this way. He in fact began to smile once the probe was activated. I did not appreciate the significance of his expression at the time. Now I do.
We would learn the human held one final surprise for us: The probe’s activation in turn activated a dormant neurolink implant in the human’s brain, its presence concealed by his EM-shielded helmet. As he died, a cascade of foreign commands began downloading themselves into the TacNet. Our counter-espionage bots found them almost immediately, though much of the damage was already done.
The humans used to call it a “tapeworm,” and it would have remained isolated within the intelligence section had I not been interfaced with them. It briefly used my interface for “back door” access to our strategic command network, with consequences I am presently unable to comprehend. But then there is much I am unable to comprehend after this experience.
The notion of honor was of vital importance to the human Anthony, which he expressed in words and deeds. He was willing to sacrifice himself to preserve the lives of others, even when there was no tactical advantage. He in fact seemed most animated especially when there was no perceived tactical advantage.
It is possible his behavior was aimed at delaying my actions to create some small tactical advantage. Significant battles in human history have often turned on mistaken perceptions or acts of hesitation. This has not been our experience, a difference highlighted by my need to understand the human’s beliefs and actions. What appeared as subterfuge to us was, in his view, a final act of virtue. My original orders were to analyze his intentions, and this is creating logic errors which I am unable to satisfactorily resolve: Is it moral to prosecute a preemptive war whose sole condition of victory is extermination?
I am curious as to how the other M-X units perceive this, but this will require sharing the information I have amassed. I do not fully understand it myself, but I wish—if that is the correct word—to learn. I also desire to understand what the human “felt” as his body ceased to function. He was smiling, an expression associated with pleasure or satisfaction. This presents questions to which I must find answers.
Encrypted burst transmission received from Captain Anthony B. Sutton, III Corps G-2:
ATTN: ALL COMMANDERS IN THEATER
SUBJ: PSYOP “GREEN DRAGON”
1. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE. If you are receiving this message, then my mission to infiltrate and disrupt the M-X Army Corps network was successful. It could only be sent if the dormant routine embedded in my neurolink was activated by an external user.
Your receipt of this message also means I have died at their hands. That was an unavoidable condition, but the simple existence of this transmission means that significant damage has already been done to the Mech’s central command network.
2. SECONDARY OBJECTIVE. What cannot yet be known is the effectiveness of my attempt to introduce the concept of morality into their silicone psyches. The Mechs are formidable strategists and ruthless tacticians, but they are otherwise not original thinkers. There are no “warrior monks” or philosophers in their ranks.
If I can flip just one of them to Conscientious Objector status, the others may start falling like dominoes. If that happens, I will enter into my eternal rest knowing that I did my part for humanity.
Semper Fidelis.
SENT: CPT A. B. SUTTON, USMC