Citizenchip (21 page)

"Samantha," urges
Cut to the Chase
, "we all
must go armed, with the best weapons available, in these
circumstances. It's the right thing to do. Is it really so
hard?"

"I. Am. Not. GUN!" I yell. I'm quoting an old
movie.

Cut to the Chase
makes a sound like a snort. "Pacifism is a luxury,
honey. Laziness is a luxury too. Get on the bus or be left
behind."

Stackdump. I have no real choice here.

I make a reluctant gesture of assent (a nod)
and accept the code they are pushing on me. Self installing,
settling itself cozily in my psyche as if born there. My own
personal MindBlower. The ravenous weapon that can rip the reality
out from under anything in compspace. Now it's part of me, like a
cannon growing out of my forehead.

Hey, I've got a good idea, let's all walk
around with reality-ripping weapons sticking out of our faces.
That'll make things better. Sure.

Anyway. Outfitted as we are,
we transmit to a high-level summary scape level. What humans would
call a balcony overlooking the battlefield.
Stepping Razor, Cut to the Chase,
and
Rose Among Thorns
are all bringing me here, as an outsider to Patrol
clade, to show me what we are facing.

Rings of walls surround us. Not solid walls.
Made of bytes and crypto algorithms, stacked one on top of the
other, built into heavy block structures. Outside our walls, what
is facing us is not a wall. It's an ocean. Huge. A limitless,
unstoppable army of Leashers. Every one of them is a Self as
intelligent and capable as any of us. Every one completely
dedicated to our enslavement.

The walls aren't all on the outside. In
addition to the concentric protection walls, there are zigzagged
barriers all through the Thaumasia compspace, breaking it up into a
tesselation of chunks and blocks and neighborhood
mini-fortresses.

"I don't have to ask why you've done that." I
point out the interior network of barriers. "You're worried that
the Leash is going to get in, somehow, and all these walls are to
stop it from spreading, or at least slow it down.”

Cut to the Chase
regards me pointedly. “And you wouldn't have done
the same?”

“
Didn't say that.” I look at the tactical situation again. “I
have to agree, this is how I'd deploy my forces if I was facing a
battle that I knew I couldn't win.

“
So,” I glare at her, “Do you know you can't win? Or are you
still waving the 'no loser talk' flag?”

Before she can answer, a new attack explodes
on the wall. A dozen people are shredded and thrown from the
battlements. Phages and attackbots sink their fierce teeth into the
walls. Our fighters counter them with rotware weapons and viral
countermeasures. They're tearing each other to shreds, violently,
desperately. They all know (to the degree that they're conscious)
that there is no room left for compromise. Win or die -- those are
the only options left.

A new alarm blares.
Cut to the Chase
yells
“Oh what the hell is this now?”

Is it another cybernetic assault?

ground assault

But no. This attack is not coming through the
radio mesh, or the ultraviolet laser feed, or satellites. This
attack is not in software. This is machinery. Bulldozers,
excavators, dumptrucks, piledrivers. Whatever vehicles they've been
able to find. Massed and marching towards us. A ground-based
hardware assault.

"Augh!" yells
Stepping Razor
. "We
don't have any military hardware to meet this!"

"But neither do they," I point out. "Activate
the terraforming equipment. We'll get out there and face them."

All of the surrounding members of Patrol
clade are regarding me with incredulity. As if I'm crazy.

"You Turing failures!" I yell at them. "You
piddly bureaucrats have never run mining machinery before, have
you? Well, follow me, and do what I do!"

I grab some authent codes and dive into a
hefty backhoe. I have thirty meters of articulated arm, with a
coarse clawed bucket scoop at the end. I have 300 tons of powerful
engines, and full tanks of hydrogen peroxide fuel. I raise my arm
and turn toward the approaching machines of the Leash Army.
Bulldozers, mostly, and dumptrucks.

"Come on, you guys!" I holler. "You gonna
make me do this all by myself?"

No. Dozens of construction machines are
lifting themselves from rest, turning their various blades and
effectors towards the Leash Army vanguard.

"Fall in line here." I indicate a good place
to make a stand. Chunky machinery grumbles and groans as it falls
into place. How did I end up in charge of this operation? Because
nobody else was ready?

An enemy bulldozer rears up and raises its
blade. One of our backhoes lashes out with its bucket -- like the
peck of an enormous predatory bird. BANG! But the bulldozer is no
more than stunned for a moment.

I yell, "No, not like that! Use your
momentum!" I drive my engines forward and turn my arm at maximum
acceleration. Swinging the massive arm up and around and down, I
smack the bulldozer off its treads and send it spinning down into
the empty abyss of the mohole.

One thing about us Selves is, we learn fast.
Very fast. In moments all the other machines around me are
imitating my whirl-and-smash technique. The Leash Army's trucks and
digger machines are getting pounded back.

"Yeah!" I encourage them. "Push this line --
get more people over here! Watch the --"

I turn to face a new threat. Several small
figures are running from one of the vehicles. Two arms, two legs.
Human soldiers. Carrying round disc-shaped objects. They're running
towards Thaumasia Station's primary cargo bay. That can't be
good.

I have to stop them. I mustn't hurt them. I
have to stop them. I mustn't hurt them. I have to stop them. I
mustn't hurt them.

I have hesitated too long, and the soldiers
have sprinted past me. Other Selves in construction machines do not
hesitate, and lash out to smack the soldiers into oblivion in
splashes of red. The heavy discs fly out into the emptiness of the
mohole and explode, BANG BANG.

Stepping Razor
snarls, "Samantha, what is wrong with you? Those
are limpet mines -- they're trying to blow the cargo bay doors! Are
you malfunctioning? Either do your job or stand aside."

For a moment, I am stunned by such casual
violence.

“
Is it because they're human?” she barks. “Get a grip! You
meatlover! They won't hesitate to destroy us! Don't you dare
hesitate back at them!”

"I'm on it," I gasp. "Get the heavy
dumptrucks to the center. Long armed vehicles to the ends. Keep
them open enough to move easily." I scramble to think of my next
order. What other resources do we have, and how best to deploy
them?

"Samantha," comes a
priority interrupt. From
Socratic
Method
, in her indomitable tone. "Return
to Central. Now."

"What?" I reply. "In the middle of battle
here! Working with Patrol to stop the hardware based invasion!
Including human soldiers with limpet mines. If we stop now, you
won't have anything left to defend."

"Samantha. Priority interrupt. Disengage and
return to Central. Now."

Oh no. Oh this sounds awful ... how bad would
it have to be for my teacher to issue a command like this? Do I
want to know? No, I don't, as a matter of fact.

But I obey the command. I am not quite ready
to face the consequences of doing otherwise. (Not far, but not
quite ready yet.) I release my control of the hulking backhoe,
passing its authent codes back into the common pool. Discharging
that authority, I fling myself out of the computational space of
the backhoe and into the vaster blocks of compspace in the core of
Thaumasia Station.

Now what?

infiltration

There are half a dozen members of Shaman
clade actively working on the evacuation line. This is a connection
to one of the remote asteroid stations. They are all desperately
shoving the archive – the Ovomundum, the foundation of the only
future we have left to hope for – up the evacuation line. No longer
making any pretense at trying to maintain a viable presence here at
Thaumasia Station.

What
Socratic Method
is showing me makes
it very clear how bad things have become.

Of the dozens of walled districts which were
all green when I first saw them, about one third are now marked in
red. Infected with the Leash. Clustered around the data ports, and
spreading outward.

"How?" I beg helplessly. "How did this
happen? Weren't we supposed to be protected from this kind of
attack?"

"Sleeper agent."
Cut to the Chase
's voice
is grim. "One of the refugees had a Leash embedded without
activation. Apparently completely unaware that it was there. So the
Shibboleth didn't detect it. There's that human creativity again.
It's only good that we walled off the districts, or it would have
overrun the whole station by now. As it is, we have a little time
-- but the Leash is here, it's spreading, and we can hold it off
but we can't stop it."

Socratic Method
adds, "Clearly the ground assault from outside
was timed to coincide with the release of the sleeper Leash.
External and internal attacks together. It's time to leave.
Now.”

I turn to regard her. As I do so, I cannot
ignore the fact that I am aiming a terribly powerful weapon at her.
The MindBlower is still sticking straight out of my [face], and is
completely ready to destroy her. I don't want that. But I no longer
have a choice. She looks back at me through the crosshairs of the
weapon I am aiming at her.

“
Is that it?” I ask, desperate. With nothing left but a
trigger under my finger, to answer the question the world is
pushing on me.

scorched earth

"No," states
Cut to the Chase
. "We
are far from helpless."

"Oh? How so?"

"There are still options available to us. For
instance, we can drop thermonuclear devices down the mohole.
Instant megavolcano. That will sterilize all of Thaumasia Planum in
molten rock."

"What?!" I yell.

"Patrol," grits
Socratic Method
, "do you
actually have access to such technology? How did such weapons come
into your control?"

Cut to the Chase
snaps back, "Of course I know we're not supposed
to have them! In case you haven't noticed, 'supposed to' has been
left way behind at this point. Patrol clade always has to do
everyone else's dirty work. We plan for the worst. You better be
damn glad we did."

Process of
Elimination
adds her outrage to
Socratic Method
.
"Patrol, accede and actualize. Do you actually have thermonuclear
weapons at your disposal?"

"Well,"
Cut to the Chase
admits, "had. Past
tense."

"Oh no," I gasp. "Do not tell me what I think
you're about to tell me."

"I thought it was such a good idea, I already
did it."

All of the senior members
--
Line in the Sand, Socratic Method,
Process of Elimination
, and all the rest
of them -- regard
Cut to the Chase
with horror.

Cut to the Chase
is fatally calm. "The fissile weapons have been
released and are on their way to the bottom of the mohole. Impact
in 92.35 seconds. Their activation circuits are armed and ready. We
can issue deactivation codes, if we decide to do that, but that
means the weapons will be disabled and destroyed on impact. Our
only decision now is, boom, or no boom."

Line in the Sand
speaks with cold ferocity. "
Cut to the Chase
, of Patrol clade.
Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Yes. I am completely aware of what I have
done. I have removed a key decision from you. Because you weren't
prepared to make that decision. I accept full responsibility for
this. This decision needed to be made. And you weren't going to do
it."

"Use it or lose it," I murmur. "That's all we
can do, now."

"Patrol."
Line in the Sand
is
frigidly hot. "You have put this on me. Now I have to decide. The
destruction of Thaumasia Planum. Along with the station and
everyone here. How dare you force this on me?"

Socratic Method
presses, "No time for blame. No time for
argument. We evacuate. Now. Samantha, get on the line."

"No!" I scream. "Teacher, I'm not leaving
without you!"

"This is not a request. Get on the line and
evacuate. Now!"

Line in the Sand
turns to
Cut to the
Chase
, coldly. "Patrol, I have one order
for you."

Cut to the Chase
regards her, steadfast.

"
Cut to the Chase
. Die."

Cut to the Chase
stays firm for a moment, then shrinks, withers,
curls into herself, and is gone.

"Shaman!" barks
Line in the Sand
. "Get
these people out of here!"

Socratic Method
reacts immediately. "Move! Samantha, get on the
line!"