Founding of the Federation 3: The First AI War (82 page)

She nodded a choppy nod in passing but didn't say anything as she left.

He watched her go and then heaved a soft sigh before he followed her out to his own cupboard of an office.

<>V<>

Colonel Sinclair couldn't quite pause as she floated through the corridor to her office cubical. When she saw Elliot, Brigadier General Elliot, she scowled. Fortunately he wasn't looking in her direction at the time, too engrossed in whatever he was reading.

“You don't like me much, do you?” he asked her in passing. That brought her up short. She reached out and grabbed a handhold to arrest her forward momentum to stare at the chimp. He looked up, and wise brown eyes looked into her blue eyes. “What's the problem? Because I don't have the same training you have?”

“No,” she said. “I don't know where you got the idea that I don't,” she said stalling for time.

“It's pretty obvious,” Elliot replied. He nodded to a pair of troops moving through the corridor. Since they were in motion, both officers made a hole for them. The two enlisted seemed a bit flustered about passing the senior officers. “Sir. Ma'am,” one murmured.

“Carry on,” Elliot said, eyes still locked on the colonel.

“I don't know what you are talking about,” the colonel said when they passed and were hopefully out of earshot. “Sir,” she added reluctantly.

“There it is again,” Elliot murmured, making her flush. “You wouldn't pull that shit with General Murtough or Schlock or Martell. So I'm thinking it is my background,” he said with a heavy sigh. “It can't be helped. Nor can the insistence that we Neos have a say in who runs the show. Get over it.”

“I'm again …,” she scowled then schooled her expression into a blank mask. “I'll stay in decorum from now on, sir,” she said, coming to attention.

Elliot studied her and then nodded slowly. “Very well. Carry on,” he said, nodding his head to the way she'd been heading.

Terra nodded once and moved out. It was only after she was in motion again that she realized the professional order he'd given. It had seemed casual, but he'd done it smoothly. Her mind replayed the conversation over and over as she made her way to her cubical. Perhaps he was a leader after all.

Now it just remained to be seen how he did in the true test, combat.

<>V<>

It was starting to come together, the invasion plans, or it was about to fly apart. The opinion of the space-born public varied wildly in either direction. Everyone wanted to do their own thing, but the consensus was that something had to be done very quickly indeed and that not enough was being done.

Pavilion and other genetic engineering companies wanted to create Chimerian soldiers or Neo strains based on rodents. Their intent was to have large numbers, to swarm mech defenses. Quantity over quality. When Jack Lagroose heard about the plan, he publicly flat out refused to treat Neos as slave soldiers or meat robots.

Everyone doing their own thing continued to complicate the logistics situation. Some companies tended to neglect to inform the convoys of shipping delays until the last minute. Others came up with alternative loads instead of the load they had agreed to make. That had caused clashes initially until orbital warehouses had been set up on the other side to receive the goods and then process them in a timely manner there. There continued to be clashes over who would end up footing the bill when the dust settled as well. There was a high expectation that Earth would be indentured for decades or would write the debt off.

Jack thought about all that as he looked over to Sheila and Lynn. Both had taken the time to come out to L-5 to see the final preparations of the invasion force.

“I am still concerned about rights, creating a slave soldier race is ripe for disaster,” Jack said, eying Lynn.

“True. So let's not do that,” Sheila said. She turned curious eyes to Lynn. “What they will do after the war … that's a long term problem. After all, whoever created them will have to pay for their college education after the war. That is one of the points we agreed to in the initial Sol treaty, correct? That is if the public doesn't get involved. They can be quite touchy about genetic engineering,” she reminded them.

The CEO of Pavilion winced as that barb slid home. They had their own brush with bioengineering public disasters years ago. The previous administration had flirted with a group of customers who had wanted pocket monsters. But not any monsters, monsters based on ancient franchise. Not only did they have thorny legal issues to deal with, but they had to deal with the actual engineering of the animals.

The geneticist had performed miracles in getting the first production test animals out at all. It had been an impressive feat of engineering, to see a giant yellow mouse that could generate electric impulses, or the small raptor sized T-rex creature with giant claws on its limbs.

But that was when things got out of control. The animals had been run past test groups to get a reaction. The test group members had ignored their nondisclosure agreements and leaked the animals. The idea of them wasn't farfetched. Robotic toys had cropped up from time to time, but a flesh and blood creature?

The company had ridden the intense public interest for a time, but it had crested far too quickly into a crashing wave of problems when reality hit. For one thing, the animals proved hard to control and contain. They didn't have the powers that their fictional counterparts did of course. There had been promises of fire breathing for the rex later, but what they had was bad enough. People had realized the hard way that the creatures had their own minds and instincts. It had become a public relations disaster for Pavilion before the animals had been euthanized.

The fans had been bitter over the experience but many had taken the lessons to heart. Instead they had launched a virtual world where they could create and interact with virtual constructs to their heart’s content. All without risking the public's ire.

“You made your point. I don't think whoever pitched the idea, and no it wasn't me, who leaked it,” Lynn said holding up a hand. “Whoever had the brainstorm didn't think it through obviously. I've looked into it since then. Apparently the proposal was to create millions of genetic soldiers, but they were not to be brought up to full sentience.”

“Warrior animals?” Jack asked.

“Something along the line of your smart dogs, though I believe now that we've had a closer look and talk with your people that they were far smarter than they let on,” Lynn said eying him.

Jack grunted then nodded. “Correct.”

“You did a magnificent job keeping them in line. My compliments. Your security arrangements were exquisite,” Sheila said.

“Thank Roman. But it was a group effort. The dogs are loyal.”

“Conditioned of course,” Lynn interjected, smiling thinly.

“Not as, well, not quite in the way you believe. Canines are loyal. They also look to humans for guidance. I remember that from my family. Even the smart ones still take their lead from humans,” Jack said. “They lacked initiative. They weren't stupid, just … very focused on humans. It's one of the reasons Ursilla and Aurelia focused their efforts on the other breeds for so long.”

“To uplift them. I see.”

“That and the complexity of alterations involved in a canine,” Jack said with a shrug.

“And the ethics involved.”

“We're still keeping them under wraps now, but for military reasons,” Jack cautioned. The other two CEOs nodded. “You aren't moving forward with the rats?”

Lynn frowned prettily but after a moment shook her head.

Sheila shivered. “Thank you,” she said with feeling. That got a brief smile from Lynn. “I hate rats. They are almost as bad as spiders and snakes. There is a
reason
I went into space you know,” she said heartily.

Jack smiled briefly. He took a sip of coffee then nodded to Lynn. “Production is up according to Doctor Lagroose. If you wish, we can set up a line of production with your facilities as well.”

Lynn's eyes widened. “You'd do that? Just share your materials? Techniques like that?” She demanded.

Jack snorted. “We can't patent the gene sequences of a sentient being. That's been well established in every court.” She nodded thoughtfully. “And I believe this war, and their coming exposure to it, will bring things to a head once it is over. The Neos will be fully outed, and they will not be owned by any corporation or entity. They will be a part of society. A big part of the rebuilding if everything goes right,” he said. Again she nodded.

“Which means you'll be pulling out of them?” Sheila asked carefully.

Jack glanced her way then shrugged. “It is a thought. Doctor Glass has insisted on autonomy. He wants his people to stand on their own. I am willing to do so, but they have to understand, I'm not going to keep paying for them either. They are at the point where if they wish to be treated as adults, fine. Hands off,” he made a motion, bringing his hands up in a motion of surrender. Then his hands dropped again. “But, that's a two-edged sword.”

“I see,” Sheila murmured. She glanced at Lynn. Lynn slowly nodded.

<>V<>

“Warlords are going to require careful diplomacy. They have to be ruthless to earn respect and use fear to get people to acknowledge them and to follow them. So...,” the general paused to look at Jack. “Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“You paying attention?” he asked as he looked at Jack. The other man was staring out the virtual window.

“We are … does it ever bother you? Being so remote? Away from the problem? The day-to-day trials of survival down there? It seems so distant. I feel for them; yet, the urgency is all in my head or seems to be. Some people just don't get it, even now.”

“Jack.” The general coughed and then got himself a drink. Jack turned to him with a look of mild concern. Isaac waved the concern away. “Dry mouth. Look, I've seen it. The higher you go, the more abstract things become. It becomes numbers, stats on a chart, not names and faces. In some way that is a godsend; it means you can abstract the pain as well. To some it becomes a numbers game—variables, pieces on a chess board. They look at it, the war aspect as well as the political aspect, as a game. It's not, real lives matter in the end. But yeah, it's damn easy to forget that.”

“I keep getting this hideous vision of someone walking into my office—a woman ravaged by disease, famine, and radiation. She sets her baby on my desk and then leaves,” he whispered softly.

Isaac winced. “It's … yeah, that's grim.” He looked away. He had the same visions, but they included his great grandchildren.

There was a long pause as both men thought about it. Isaac poured himself a fresh drink of scotch. “I hope this holds out,” he said, hefting the bottle to examine it.

“It's from Earth, so I doubt it. And we're going to be focusing on other priorities,” Jack said, turning. “So, make it last as long as you can,” he warned.

“Ah. Gotcha.”

“Warlords,” Jack said, sitting in his chair. “We're going to need to coordinate with the surviving politicians that we can find. They are going to take careful handling.”

“Stroking you mean,” Isaac agreed with a grimace.

“Definitely. Handling definitely, which won't be fun. But it will be necessary. We need people to understand the enemy. Who it is, how to fight it, how to survive.” He shook his head. “Barbarianism serves a purpose. When all else fails, fall back on the basics. Leadership is one of them, even if it is bad leadership. At least you aren't rudderless, just waiting to be picked off. I hope this doesn't go on for too long however. It'd bother the hell out of me to see kings and nobles set up all over the planet. Despots and tyrants.”

“They have to survive first, Jack,” Isaac warned. “Long before they can put on the trappings.”

“Tell some of them that. I'll bet you there will be some crackpots out there. But again, getting them to focus on fighting the right fight and not each other to survive is vital.”

“Right. Us against them?”

“Not exactly,” Jack said, eyes to the ceiling. “It's more complicated than that.”

“Definitely,” Athena stated. Isaac winced. He'd forgotten she was there, listening in.

<>V<>

Once a week at random times, Athena sent a drone to enter near the North American continent with the stated attempt at probing for information.

What that really meant was she was engaged in a conversation with Ares in a neutral forum she had set up on the ground. A series of probes had been shotgun all over the planet. Each time she wanted to talk, she accessed one, which meant he would of course find out its location and destroy it. That was fine with her. Her intent was to talk to him, to try to win him over or at least get him thinking.

The virtual forum was shapeless, a void with only their avatars lighting it. There were no obstacles, no objects other than data modules and bots that they brought with them. A virtual battlefield or in this case a forum for neutral talks. Or at least that was what she tried to get him to accept it as.

She used a bot as her avatar, an image of her in her Greek goddess form. Ares disdained a similar form in favor of a human form wearing a military uniform. The uniform was not of any one branch however, and he had very little face, just a mask with eyes.