The Great Destroyer (3 page)

Safe in the knowledge that nothing he said could be held against him, the Safety Minister opined, “We have not had armed conflict on Earth in hundreds of years.  There are some old weapons in museums, tanks and the like.  We can probably find the old plans to make more.  But our safety personnel have only minimal training in light arms for crowd control.  They have not been trained to operate heavy weapons or armed vehicles.”

Flower asked, “How long would it take to give them the right training?”

Shrugging, Safety Minister Redfeather answered, “I don’t know.  We don’t even have trainers who know how to fight.  We would have to find old combat manuals and cobble something together.  I can’t imagine we would have any semblance of a real training system in anything less than a year.”

The members of the Advisory Council and their aides all experienced a moment of icy fear.  The aliens would be arriving in sixty to ninety days, and they would find Earth almost totally undefended.

Equality Minister Eldridge said a touch too loudly, “I don’t see why we are all worrying about the aliens being hostile.  They couldn’t possibly be crueler than human beings, and we have survived ourselves up until this point.  We can negotiate their access to whatever it is they want.”

Ignoring her own lack of seniority, Takagawa said, “Negotiating isn’t easy when the other side has all the power.”

Flower held up a hand to head off the Equality Minister’s angry response.  “It does seem very unlikely that the aliens will prove to be hostile.  But, out of an abundance of caution, Safety Minister Redfeather, you will develop defense plans to give us as much negotiating leverage as possible.  Create a plausible defense force, no matter how weak, and we will be in a much better position to preserve our way of life.”

The Safety Minister looked as if he had just been asked to grow wings and fly away from the Peoplehood House.  “First Representative Flower, there is no way we can be ready in ninety days.”

“I can make us ready.”  All eyes turned to Emma Takagawa, who had stated the fact as plainly as if she were telling a waiter her order.

Redfeather asked indignantly, “And how will you do that?”

“Before the Great Stagnation, armed forces of many nations around the world were working on all manner of robots.  I can build on their work and produce a rudimentary force of robots far faster than the Safety Minister can have humans ready to defend the planet.”

The suggestion left the Council dumbfounded.  Finally, the Equality Minister said, “I think it’s a good idea.  We don’t want to poison our people with a lust for war.  It would be unhealthy for the psyche of our children.”

Gender Issues Minister Leah Percy said, “Won’t having robot weapons cast a rather bellicose tone over the negotiations?”

Safety Minister Redfeather ignored that question, wanting clarification of a more important issue: “Dr. Takagawa, will you bear full responsibility for the performance of these devices?”

Emma didn’t hesitate.  “Of course.  Who else would?”

Redfeather could barely contain his joy at no longer being responsible for defending Earth.  “I think this plan merits serious attention and study.”

Brows furrowed, Entertainment Minister Fabrizio demanded in a hurt tone, “Will this killer robot program delay implementation of the dog parks initiative?”

Takagawa couldn’t quite hold in a laugh.  Flower ignored it and said, “Of course not.  Important Terran Alliance business cannot be suspended because of safety precautions.”

Infrastructure Minister Yuri Bednov looked relieved.  “Then the subway expansion directive can still be issued tomorrow?”

“Of course,” the First Representative said reassuringly.  “In all likelihood, the aliens will be peaceful, and Takagawa’s program can be quietly deactivated.”

“And who will coordinate the reception of the extraterrestrial beings when they turn out to be peaceful?” demanded the Equality Minister.

Making a quick political calculation, Flower said, “I had hoped you would, Tanya.  After all, you represent one of our planet’s finest achievements.  What better face could there be to show to the aliens than that of total human equality?”

The Equality Minister nodded.  “There will be much to do if we are to be ready in 90 days.”

The First Representative completed the dance.  “Let’s put it to a vote then.”  A vote was not strictly necessary; the First Representative had full authority to commit the Terran Alliance to new safety measures.  But the vote would serve as a seal of approval to be trotted out for the news shows later. 

“All in favor of funding the robot initiative and appointing the Equality Minister to head the Extraterrestrial Welcome Committee, say aye.”

The vote was unanimous.  No one would vote against the powerful Equality Minister, which was, of course, the reason Flower had tied her appointment to the robot vote.

Once voting concluded, Flower added a final twist, a way to solidify control over—but not accountability for—the project. 

“Dr. Takagawa, you have full responsibility for the robot initiative.  My assistant, Gavin Henderson, will oversee your work and have full veto power over major decisions.  You will have all the budgetary authority you need.  If anyone stands in your way, you are hereby authorized to require their compliance in accordance with Chapter 6, Section 774 of the Terran Alliance Charter.  Now, please get to work while my Council continues its deliberations.”

Light flooded into Viktor Yazov’s eyes.  It was the first thing his mind could register after its brief lapse in consciousness.  A split-second later, the pain came.

Ordinary men took precious time to psychologically address pain.  They blinked, swayed, told themselves to fight through it.  Not Viktor Yazov.  He knew where he was, knew his life depended on swift action.

He turned around and stabbed semi-blindly into the spots and flashes that obscured his vision.  His knife found its target, penetrating deep into the neck of the assailant who had hit him in the head with a brick.

Yazov could feel through the knife’s handle as the point scraped against his opponent’s spinal column.  Recognizing the tactile feedback, Yazov knew this enemy was no longer a threat, sure to pass out from blood loss and die very quickly. 

He ripped his knife out of the dying man and whirled around in time to see another prisoner holding a shiv, a hunk of sharpened metal.  Yazov hunched his muscular six-foot frame into a ready position, and the thug grinned malevolently.  Yazov didn’t react, keeping his eyes locked on the shiv. 

The prisoner lunged forward with the shiv, but Yazov was far too quick.  He effortlessly dodged left and brought his own knife around to slash the man’s face, opening a gaping wound.  The thug dropped his shiv and scampered away.

Yazov had now disabled three of the gang of prisoners who had attacked him in the prison courtyard.  He squared up to face his remaining enemies, none of whom looked particularly eager to come challenge him.  Their ringleader, seeing how quickly his band had been thinned out, held up a hand and shouted, “Enough!  Yazov has learned his lesson.” 

The remaining henchmen pulled back, muttering taunts and curses.  The ringleader said in Russian, “This is not over, Yazov.  You take something of ours again, and we’ll finish what we started.”

Calmly and with serene confidence, Yazov replied, “You are not the first to promise such a thing.  And yet here I am.”

The crowd dissipated, returning to whatever they had been doing in the prison camp courtyard before the fight had broken out.  Yazov had been playing chess with a new inmate, Dmitry Peskov, a slight computer programmer from Moscow.  The other prisoners had tried to grab him away with rather unpleasant romantic intentions.  Yazov had told them politely that Peskov was not done with their game. 

Peskov stammered out, “Thank you for your assistance, Viktor.  They would have... well, I don’t even know what they would have done if you hadn’t been here to stop them.”

Yazov grunted noncommittally as he rubbed the back of his head where the brick had impacted.  The hand came away bloody. 

Dmitry persisted in his thanks.  “I understand that such kindness is not often found in the Siberian prison camps.”

Yazov ignored the sentiment.  “We were in the middle of a game.”

Laughing and still giddy at his escape from the gang, Dmitry said, “I’m afraid I will be a poor opponent after the stress of that little incident.”

Yazov said nothing of the tremendous headache resulting from being struck in the head with a brick.  “Learning to perform under pressure is a vital skill here.”

“I should say so.  Where did you learn to fight like that anyway?”

“My family.”

Yazov heard his father’s voice in his head.  “The Cossack never takes his strength for granted.  Our enemies only grow stronger and wiser while you preen.  To stay ahead, you must work.  And the only way to know your strength is to test yourself.”

It had been almost two months since Yazov’s last fight. 
Too long
.

One did not have to search hard for an excuse to fight in the prison camps.  Survival required either complete submission or respect earned with fists, knives, and blunt objects.

“So, why are you here, Viktor?”  Dmitry asked.

“Murder.”

“Oh.  Er, who did you kill?” Dmitry inquired delicately.

“A Safety Officer.”

Giggling nervously, Dmitry said, “I should have guessed.  Only the hard criminals are sent here, they say.  Uh, why did you kill him?”

“Money.”

“Who paid you?”

Yazov remembered the villagers, the ones who had been sick of the policeman demanding protection payments.  “People with money.”

Smiling, Dmitry said, “I’m sure the Safety Officer had it coming.  You were probably a white knight for some oppressed people somewhere.”  When that elicited nothing but a glare, Dmitry added conversationally, “I was no white knight.  They caught me hacking into Lian Flower’s email account.”

Yazov’s eyebrow arched a centimeter.  “Why were you doing that?”

Dmitry shrugged.  “Just for fun.  Turns out she exchanges boring emails with her amorfriends and does almost no work.  I guess that’s what qualifies as top secret these days.”

Studying the board, Yazov noted Dmitry’s underdeveloped center, his focus on the big pieces to the detriment of the overall strategic situation.  Dmitry, meanwhile, carelessly continued his monologue. 

“Yes, I’m about the best hacker in the world, according to the newspapers.  They caught me for the Flower job, but I’ve reprogrammed bank vaults, servers, the centralized control system for a plane, you name it.”

Yazov moved out a pawn to create a lane for his bishop. 
Checkmate in five
, he thought to himself.

“How do we fight them when we don’t even know what they look like?”  Luke Tanner had not meant that to be a rhetorical question.  As Emma’s assistant of five years, he had long since learned that nothing was impossible.

Emma tilted her head, imagining the problem in her mind.  The two were discussing the new project in Takagawa’s office in Houston.  The facility was an old dentist’s office within easy driving distance of the Space Administration’s Mission Control center, where she oversaw the operation of her robots on Luna.  Takagawa’s workstation took up most of the available workspace, though she also had a small cubbyhole of an office off to one side.  Tanner made do with a chair in the workstation. 

It was about two in the morning, and the whiteboard on the wall was covered with incomprehensible notes and programming diagrams.  Takagawa had arrived back from Toronto three hours earlier with a notebook filled with design concepts she had dreamed up on the flight.  Now, she and Luke were fleshing out her ideas.

Takagawa spoke slowly, her eyes unfocused in the way of someone lost in thought.  “To fight them, our boys will need to recognize them.  OK, so how will they recognize them?  Well, let’s think about how a human would do it and then see what we can translate over.”

She pointed to her eyes.  “Using our optical sensor, we detect an animal-like shape, that is, a moving mass of non-polygonal shape.  Biology has fewer hard angles than inanimate equipment.  Then, we put a tag on that shape in our minds: ANIMAL.  Then, we track what it looks like, what it sounds like, and all that.  After we see the first one, we can classify the rest by shape, size, and sound.” 

Pointing to a life-size poster of a lunar robot on the wall, she said, “Our boys can already identify certain tools by those general steps.  We just have to do some tweaks so they identify animal-like objects in the same way.”

Tanner nodded.  “Yes, that would work if the aliens are biological.  What if the aliens are robots?  How do we classify them?”

Shrugging, Takagawa answered, “We only have 60 days; we can’t cover every possibility.  We have some capability to direct the robots if they encounter something unexpected.”

It had been a long, momentous day.  For a heartbeat, Takagawa felt her eyelids droop.  Her body, nagging her brain to rest.  Takagawa’s indefatigable will vetoed the notion.

“Next problem,” she said, “The lunar bots’ optical sensor will need better acuity for combat.  Right now, they have to get close for reliable shape identification.  That won’t work unless the enemy is under fifteen feet away.”

Luke took up the thread.  “Better acuity isn’t a problem for the camera, but we’ll need more processor power.  I don’t know if we’ll have enough computational heft to take in and analyze dramatically higher resolutions.”

Takagawa looked at the sketch of a lunar robot on the whiteboard.  They were using the Charlie design as their base and drawing in the changes that would transform it from an astronomical janitor to a soldier. 

Her baby. 
So human-like, with its two optical sensors.  It didn’t look like a fearsome warrior, more like a child with big round eyes.
 
They won’t survive like children
, she told herself. 
They need to be fierce.

“Take out one of the eyes,” she said quietly, almost to herself. 

“What?”  Luke asked.

“Take out one of the optical sensors,” Takagawa said louder.  “They don’t need such a wide field of vision to fight.  They need to focus.  That ought to save a lot of processor power.”

Luke nodded, appreciating the elegance of the solution.  “What do we do with the empty vision port?” 

Takagawa laughed.  “Hell, put a patch over the empty optical sensor, like a pirate.  That ought to help with public relations.”

She stood up and stretched her arms. 
Sore.  Getting older.
  But she still saw Luke’s gaze linger on her.  Not too old yet.

Takagawa said matter-of-factly, “Next, weapons training.”

Luke asked, “Can we even plan the weapons training without knowing the overall fighting strategy?  How are the bots going to be resupplied? How will they coordinate their actions?  How will they know the right thing to do in a particular situation?”

The Japanese roboticist silently considered those questions. “I don’t know.”

Takagawa looked at the calendar.  If the astronomers’ calculations proved accurate, the alien ship would arrive in 58 days.  She thought about what needed to be done.  Weapons programming, communication upgrades, sensor integration, prototyping, full production.  She needed more programmers, needed to prioritize her attention on the most pressing problems.  And she needed someone to advise her on military issues.

“We’re going to have to spend some time recruiting, Luke.”