Salvation Earth

While the men waited, Harrad and Zeb returned.

“I am tired and want to sit down,” said Zeb, “but it takes more effort to sit without gravity. It’s no help at all. Maybe I can go to sleep standing up. I will be glad when we get down to the rim.”

“Where you been?” Arran enquired of Zeb.

“Talking to the robots. They are very intelligent, but dumb. Strange combination.”

“They do not think,” put in Danfour.

“But you do?” asked Zeb. “How’s that?”

“I have the latest hyper multicore processor, very expensive. I am a true AI, an android, not a robot. A robot is programmed to do certain functions. They know what to do when a ship arrives, how to handle cargo, where it should go, parking ships and seeing personnel through transit. Those tasks do not involve thinking. If something goes wrong, they will just call a supervisor. There are many types of robot. Some maintenance bots do a routine of inspecting and repairing all functions on the orbitals, trash bots keep everything clean, serving bots do not have as much of a routine but respond to orders. Every family has one or two of these. These bots look after the dwelling, serve food and maintain household supplies, but none of them think. I am not programmed, well apart from the robot laws. I am less programmed than you. My processor is so vast and interconnected that is very much like the human brain. But it is refined, I do not have or need a subconscious. That saves space, because with one it would be ten times the size. But more importantly, I am not subjected to fear, feelings or being controlled by things I am unaware of. Everything I experience is in my storage ram and I can access it all.”

“So, you are not human, then. No feelings. You could not create art. Could you paint a masterpiece?” asked Zeb.

“Many of the masters paint art. But I do not understand the meaning of this, so no, I can’t, but I can create an accurate picture, although this is more like a photo. And I can tell jokes.”

“Really?” said Zeb. “Go on then.”

“OK, why did the robot cross the road?”

“I don’t know, why did the robot cross the road?”

“Because it was programmed to.”

“That’s a joke. The joke is you if you think that is a joke,” pointed out Arran. “You did not understand our humour, earlier did you?”

“That was not funny, it was weird,” said Danfour.

“Well, it has to be weird to be funny, or it is just normal,” said Arran.

“OK, I admit I do not understand humour,” confessed Danfour.

“And what is a subconscious?” asked Harrad, listening in. “And what control or programing do you mean?”

Danfour tried to explain. “Ah, a bit complicated. You have two brains merged together. You inherited an animal brain from which you evolved. You see, animals are like robots, they are programed and do not think.”

“Surely, they must think to survive,” put in Arran.

“No, what happens when the small wild mammal you hunt sees you?”

“It runs, instantly.”

“Exactly, do you believe it has time to think? The ones that survive are the quickest to run. This is passed on to their offspring. It is a fear reaction, automatic, a programming of sorts. Once triggered, the brain tells the muscles in their legs to run and they do that automatically from when they first learn to walk, but their brain is controlling their leg muscles. You do something similar.”

“No, we don’t,” replied Arran.

“Ok, when you are hungry, say at home, what do you do?”

“Hmm, I might think I want eggs. So, I go to the coop and get some, come back and cook them.”

“There you are, the only difference is you thought first, with your conscious brain, which animals do not have. Decision is the difference. Once you decide, your subconscious takes over and controls your body until you get back to cook. You do not have to think to breathe or for your heart to function. Do you have to think your way to the eggs?”

“Well, no. I’ve done it so many times, it’s automatic,” insisted Arran.

“Exactly, it is now programmed into your subconscious, and your subconscious is controlling your body. So, you are programmed more than I.”

“But you must have been programmed to walk and talk,” countered Zeb.

“Yes, but not in my ‘brain’. Motor controls are directed by me, but cannot learn or pass anything back. So, no subconscious. This animal brain you have, and you cannot see into it or know what is there, cannot think but tries to protect you. If you are in danger, it will make you afraid to make you run away. It will also put bad thoughts into you conscious to put you off.”

“I have always tried to focus on logic,” said Arran, “to avoid being influenced by emotion. My closest men do the same.”

“I noticed that you were less affected by what you call the force. You must be well-disciplined,” said Danfour.

“Where does this force come from?”

“I think it is the thought police, Intermind. But nobody knows who or where they are. There is no reference to them in the computers.”

“So, how do you know of them?” asked Zeb.

“I do not really know, only what I have heard, which is not much. I overhear many things, but most things I delete. The masters talk in front of us as though we were not there.”

“This Maklem, he is not one of us. Maybe he belongs to Intermind? We must question him later.”

Once all the warriors had arrived, Arran organised them into groups of twenty and Danfour saw them into the service elevator. Arran stepped into the arrivals hall with the last of the warriors. He noted that Harrad had done a good job of deploying the men and preparing the defence. The hall was large, as wide as the orbital. Off to each side were trees and grass with the occasional small lake and even squirrels in the trees. This whole level was a leisure level, giving people a taste of the countryside.

“Why would anybody want to go down to that desolate planet surface?” commented Arran.

“This oncoming war with aliens,” reminded Danfour.

“And what is that?” asked Arran, pointing to a huge transparent tube that ran the length of the place.

“This is also the travel level. Transport carriages run through it. There are stations at the base of each spoke and more midway between. See, on top of the building that the PCP are in, that is a station platform. There are escalators and stairs going down inside. More go down to the next two levels and the command centre is next to them below.”

“If the PCP are up here, can we not go down elsewhere and get to the command centre from each side?” asked Arran.

“No, there are more PCP down there. It is better to defend. There are crossroads at the centre, barricaded and defended. The side turnings would give the Police cover, while your men would have to advance along a long corridor with no protection. They have set up rapid blasters that fire off thousands a minute. To hide behind the shields, without having a foot blown off, you men would have to crawl. The shields would not be able to soak that barrage up for long, they would give out. So, it is impossible.”

“We would also have trouble getting into that building. How big is this transport?”

“About ten meters long,” answered Danfour.

“Not so big. Harrad, I want ten men here with blasters.”

Arran pointed them to the tube and its support just before the station.

“One, two, fire!”

A large section of the support blew to pieces and the tube collapsed.

“What are you doing?” cried Danfour.

“We are going to give them something to keep them busy. How long to the next transport?”

“About ten minutes, but you are going to get people killed.”

“I don’t think so. The transport will stop at the station, yes? So, it will have slowed up almost to a stop when it crashes through. Shaken, yes, but not killed.”

Ten minutes seemed to take forever, but sure enough, a travel pod appeared, visibly slowing. It crashed through the tube onto the building roof and rolled off onto its side.

“We are going to push this thing and the barricade down the stairwell,” said Arran.

“Let me get the people off first,” insisted Danfour.

Danfour tore open a door and lifted three people out. They were too shaken to notice what was going on around them and Danfour ordered a couple of serving bots to see them to a medi bay. Two dozen warriors tried in vain to move the car, but could not shift it.

“Fuck, this must be heavy,” swore Arran. “So much for that plan.”

A while later they heard a rumble and saw a large tracked machine with a scoop bucket on the front approach.

“What the hell is that?” asked Arran.

“Maintenance, come to clear up your mess and repair.”

“So soon? Dan, can you programme that machine to do what we want?”

“Of course,” replied Danfour.

“Then get it to shove that barricade down the stairwell.”

As the dozer ground forward, the warriors crept behind it and leapt down the stairs towards the barricade. They jumped to each side and took out the surprised guards at the crossroads. The ones in the barricade, suffering from a few broken bones and shock gave up immediately.

Danfour and Arran came down the stairs.

“Well, that was easier than I expected.”

“A clever move, Arran, and with less loss of life than I expected,” said Danfour happily.

“Yes, see if they will open the doors or prefer us to blast them in.”

The doors opened. Marshall Strighton stood in the centre of the room with officer Astron. Arran strode up to the marshall and put Soulreaper to his throat.

“Tell me why I should not send you straight to hell right now.”

“I was only doing my duty and you may need me with what is coming,” answered the marshall.

“The duty of a mass murderer? I do not think so,” spat Arran.

“Please, I was only doing what the overlords ordered to be done. I dare not disobey them. You will see. The thought police would have killed me.”

“So, it does not end with you.”

“No, I have no real control here. Oh, the android, that’s how you did it.”

“Yes, he was quite put out when he realised what you were doing.”

“I am quite shocked that he can make such choices,” said Strighton looking surprised.

“He is a better person than you.”

Danfour walked away as if embarrassed mumbling something about getting the net back on.

“So, Marshal, I guess we are all in this together now. What do we need to prepare for this onslaught?” asked Arran.

“We need construction down on the surface. We need bunkers for the military and shelters for the people. It will be a huge task and most construction plant is on the moon. We need to get it moving right away.”

“I am sorry, sir,” interrupted Danfour. “You will not be able to do that. It is an executive decision, rule 64 paragraph 8 of the executive code. If I am correct, sir, the next executive meeting is not for another three weeks.”

“Blast, we cannot wait that long. Can we not call a meeting now?” asked Strighton,

“If I may be so bold sir, I do believe that it can be done. Rule 86 subsection 6, paragraph 3 of the executive codes makes a precedence for an emergency meeting in dealing with any threat or riot or war involving…”

“Shut up, tin head, and get on with it then. I don’t need to know the ins and outs of a bloody handbook.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

“Why are you so rude to him?”

“Bloody robots, think they know everything.”

“More than you, apparently,” said Arran.

Just then Maklem was marched in under guard followed by Oneone.

“I thought you might like to know that he is one of the thought police. He can influence minds, but on his own he is no match for us. They use this internet to combine their strength. That should no longer be much of a problem now we know what we are dealing with,” said Oneone.

“I knew all along that you were not one of us. How many of you are there? And where are they? I want names, locations and how this power works,” commanded Arran.

“You’ll get nothing out of me nor will your mind people.”

“Then I will execute you at dawn, if we had a dawn up here.”

“Might I make a suggestion, sir,” put in Danfour. “I can put the upper level lighting on a timer to dim and brighten on a twelve-hour cycle. That way you can hack off his head as the sun rises, so to speak.”

“What an excellent idea. See to it, Dan.”

“You wouldn’t dare, that is barbaric,” said Maklem.

“I’m a barbarian, remember. And I have done a lot worse. If you are no use to us, then good riddance. At least you can give thanks that it will be quick and painless. I haven’t got time to make you suffer. Take him away,” ordered Arran.

“Oh, I did not mean for you to go through with it. I thought it may loosen his tongue,” stammered Danfour

“Don’t worry, I’m not, just thought I might let him sweat a bit. We’ll pull him in tomorrow and question him. Marshal, is there anything more we can do?”

“Not that I know of. All major decisions are made by the executive committee.”

“And where exactly are they?” asked Arran.

“Not here.”

The following day, Maklem was brought in for interrogation.

“Do you feel like talking now?”

“You are not going to kill me?”

“Not if you answer all my questions.”

“OK, what do you want to know?”

“The thought police, where are they and what are they?”

“They are on 3M right now, you outmanoeuvred them. They are not sure what to do for the best. As to what they are, when the elite of the population first moved up here, some new-borns were found to be mutants with brain anomalies. They were put into a special breeding programme which resulted in a few people that could detect and influence emotions. They became a secret sect. They coerced their developers into believing the project was a failure and have been hidden ever since. They influence the governing bodies and control whatever they want. They are organised into small cells, so we only know a handful of others.”

“They sound dangerous.”

“They are, very. They will be the end of you.”

“I very much doubt that. We have our own mind people, remember? Are they anything to do with this executive council?” asked Arran.

“Yes, the council makes decisions and the thought police make sure they are carried out with no resistance,” bragged Maklem.

“So, this is no democracy then.”

“Never has been.”

“How do I get into this council and what orbital do they hold it on? And how do they use this internet thing?”

“The internet just allows them to focus their power a bit further, that’s all. I don’t know how it works, it just does. The meetings are not held on any orbital. They are held in a virtual world. Towards the end of an Intermind leader’s life, he is entombed on the moon, his body in suspended animation, but his brain not, it is wired up to the internet. These leaders know all that goes on here and they live in the virtual world.”

“Wow, sounds creepy,” said Arran.

“You must enter it to meet them, or you will get nothing done here. And remember, if you die in this virtual world, you die here as well, for everything you encounter there is real to your brain. Be warned,” said Maklem.

“I have no intention of dying yet. How do I get into it and what is this world called?”

“On the first level, about a kilometre from the station above, there is a pile of rocks, a fake mini-mountain. There is a secret entrance at the side behind bushes. It is easy to find and enter though because Intermind keeps people away. It is called Asgard, after the old Norse heaven. The Norsemen were pagans.”

“Good, I am a pagan too,” said Arran.