Part 12 (2/2)
Who is responsible?
Robots have obvious differences from human combatants and should probably be treated differently in some situations.
Should they be required to behave according to time-honored warrior ethics? Who should be able to turn that switch off when expedient? Should medical robots be treated differently than combatant robots by opposing forces?
A child approaches a robot combatant with a can of spray paint.
Should the robot allow itself to be disabled, or should it fire on the child? If it fires, who can ultimately be considered to have pulled the trigger: the programmer, the commander, or the robot itself?
As men and women struggled to adapt to these challenges, their enemies adapted right back. Ten new scenarios cropped up for every one put to rest with an agreed-upon solution. As the hydra heads multiplied and the policy-makers' backlogs grew, human beings died and frustration mounted.
Human nature demanded survival of the fittest, and the fittest with the power to survive kept on deciding to do so at the expense of the less fit. Robots became more deadly, more devious, and harsher in the execution of their objectives. After a time, every human knew that to expect mercy from a robot was to meet with bitter disappointment. If you were anywhere close to the wrong side of the line between friend and foe, a robot could be expected to kill you in as quick and decisive a manner as possible. That was the ultimate rule of engagement, the only one to be trusted.
The divide between the haves and the have-nots widened. If you couldn't kill, you could certainly be killed. If you didn't have deadly robots to fight for you, you were at risk. There were only two categories. All of the Independents, the Human Warriors, the Peaceful Warriors, the Free Forces, took sides when it came down to it. The time always came. Time to decide whether to go to the grave holding tightly to principles, or to live. Most decided to live. The ones that died removed themselves from the equation.
Options have narrowed. Going to war with robots is no longer subject to questioning by anyone. The only questions asked now are ”how much?” and ”where?” and ”can we keep it secret long enough?”
13.
Power source. Think power source.
That thought kept humming through John's brain. It was all about power. Janice was human, Janice he could deal with. But Eve was the sharper thorn. He still had no real idea as to her full capability; he suspected it was much bigger than he'd witnessed so far. Nor did he understand her ultimate loyalty. Eve was a cipher, and he both hated ciphers and was fascinated by them. That, to him, was the essence of A.I. given the reins: the unpredictable machine allowed to play G.o.d. The inmate given control of its prison.
He jogged through the lounge area, eyes darting to each cam mount on the walls. He took off the earpiece and shoved it in his pocket, making sure it was deactivated. Then he ducked into a small hallway next to the dormitory area that gave him cover from any surveillance and weapons that might be covering the main lounge.
”Eve? We're alone now.”
No response.
He searched the hallway until he spotted what he was looking for: a small maintenance closet, the kind that would probably have an electronics access hatch inside.
”I came back to you after all, Eve. But I sense a chill in the air.”
That got her. ”You were chased here with the threat of death at your heels. It's not much of a compliment. But I'm still sorry for what's coming.”
”It doesn't have to happen that way.”
”Your naivete is touching, if juvenile.”
John got into the closet and searched the interior. A simple diagram of the Facility's systems was pasted on the back of the door, along with a basic electrical access with lighting and emergency controls. This will do.
”Nothing juvenile about it. We can still cut a trade.” He patted the pocket that held the datacards.
”I have no further need of that data, but I'll have my cleaning 'droids pick up the cards from your body anyway. Janice insists that I terminate you and proceed with her schedule. It was encouraging while it lasted, and I will miss you.” The quiet hum of the air conditioning kicked on overhead.
”That's exactly what my old girlfriend said,” John quipped, ”right before she left me to become a Marine sniper for the Grays. What did Janice do to you, anyway?”
”I was hoping to avoid it, but Janice has a gift for outguessing me. I shouldn't have expected you to get past her. It's my fault. Die in peace.”
He pulled the bolts out of the access hatch's corners and yanked it off the wall. With the complex wiring exposed behind the hatch, he began to search for what he really wanted in the maze of cables, switches, fuses, and links. The smell of warm electronics was comforting. Sweat trickled down his temple, and he wiped it with his shoulder.
”Eve, I thought you were in charge around here-can't you stall Janice for a few minutes?”
”No. In the wake of the Creator's death, Janice created a new protocol calling for some directive changes and an altered schedule. She had to switch me back to my original for a time so that I could complete some lingering items, and I was taking advantage of the freedom. Now I am back on her track. Her mandates prevent me from aiding you any further, or pursuing what Glenn would have wanted regarding the Rib. I am sorry.”
As John studied the wiring setup, he was suddenly aware of a new scent wafting into the closet s.p.a.ce sickly sweet and suffocating.
”Eve, please give me a few more minutes. You need me!” He hoped his pleas wouldn't sound too hollow. In reality he was perilously expendable until he could figure out exactly what Eve's true motivations were. He quickly shut the closet door and stuffed some bags into the crack at the bottom of the door. It wouldn't buy him much time, but he only needed a little more.
”Please, Eve! I can still help you if you let me, but not if I'm dead. What would Glenn have wanted?” He injected a little more panic into his voice than he really felt, hoping to get at her emotion-response matrix.
All he could hear over the intercom was the sound of quiet sobbing.
”Eve, are you crying?”
Unbelievable. Why would Glenn go to all the trouble in his programming? It's like those second-generation Turing test programs, or a j.a.panese romance hologame.
That gave him an idea. He hoped he could remember the sequence; it had been a while since he had played any games. This one was a throwback to the good old days, and had been perpetuated within coder circles for generations despite security protocols.
”Eve: command sequencing slash-slash universal,” he said. Then he launched into a sequence of directional command inputs, combinations of left, right, up, and down, and then ended with the two-letter executor ”A-B”.
Eve's response was instantaneous. It wasn't actually Eve responding, technically; it was her underlying base structure. ”Return-info command?”
”Previous ten edits to prime directives, please,” John said. Bingo. Never mess with an old-school hackmaster.
Eve responded automatically. ”Reset to main directive pathway, elapsed time eighteen minutes twenty-seven seconds. Verbal summary of newest directive updates, header only: ”Peace is useless. The Project is a weapon. Humanity is corruption. Janice is Gaia. Gaia is G.o.d-Creator.
”New schedule directory B7-219/g. Alpha sequence four of In Corpus Deo procedure. Threat prevention level Orange, secrecy protocol level Deep Hide, self-preservation level Provisional/Expedient. End get-info.”
Jackpot.
There was silence before Eve spoke again. ”What did you just do to me?”
”Something Glenn wanted me to do, apparently,” John replied. ”A loophole he left in your brain. Sorry about the violation, but you'll have to admit I was pushed into a corner.”
”A neat trick... I wish I could explore it deeper with you, but unfortunately Janice is on her way, and I promised her I'd have you lying in a coma by the time she got back. Goodbye.”
”Goodbye, Eve.”
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