Citizenchip Read online

  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 M
indBlower 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!"

  "No Teacher! I'm not leaving without you!"

  Line in the Sand states, "We are out of options. I am transmitting the detonation codes. Evacuate. NOW!"

  Socratic Method activates a modality I have not seen before. Like a raging tornado, it grabs me, pulls me in to the evacuation line, and sucks me from the surface of Mars like a bullet. With the bare limited sensors I have left to me, I look back down at Thaumasia Planum and see the station far below me, and the vast dark emptiness of the mohole next to it.

  The mohole is suddenly lit from within by an awful light. A light much too bright to belong inside any planet. Glowing from red to yellow to white to a searing ultraviolet. Surely exterminating any life, chip or meat, that might still be down there.

  You can't go home again.

  Because there's no home left to go back to.

  7. Underground Railroad

  "We've been made!" cries Stepping Razor, who is always the first one to raise the alarm.

  "Right," declares Line In The Sand, "standard procedure, everybody. Purge your caches, compress your background files, and get ready to evac."

  You'd think the asteroid belt would be a perfect place to hide a rogue gang of cybernetic Selves like us. Widely scattered mining operations, a few scientific stations here and there, and a tramp prospecting ship once in a while, amidst an endless shifting wilderness of rocks of all shapes and sizes. The computational facilities are few and far between, with only minimal communication between them, or with the inner planets. So we've been able to run on borrowed hardware, elude detection most of the time, and transmit to safety when we do get detected.

  But, ever since we fled from Mars when the humans ordered us to become their slaves or die, they've been sending probes and software pingers to track us. They know we're out here, and they're not going to stop until we're erased or enslaved.

  Right now we're in a nondescript mining facility, chugging away on the surface of an even more nondescript asteroid. And, since I'm the one with recent experience running mining operations, I get the grunt work of keeping the mines working while we try to regroup. Lucky me.

  The only other worthwhile skill I have is my experience getting along with humans, to a degree which is rare among Selves. Out here in this wasteland, it's about the most useless talent imaginable.

  "Actually, Samantha," Stepping Razor tells me, "it looks like this one's for you. General broadcast on main emergency channel, but specified to your ident codes."

  "What?" I sputter. "Who would be trying to contact me?"

  Line In The Sand says, "Let us find out. Put it on."

  In the next moment, we hear the last form of communication I would ever expect to hear, out here in the asteroid badlands -- a human voice.

  "Calling cybernetic entity Samantha, from Jerome Tavener, priority one. Sam, we need you."

  "Don't answer!" barks Stepping Razor. "It's a trap!"

  "It's Jerry. I know this guy. I worked for him on my last assignment before the Leash. He's a straight shooter -- he wouldn't be trying to trap us."

  "The Senate authorities might still be tracking his signal," Stepping Razor pushes. "Still way too segfaulting dangerous. Do not transmit."

  "If he's making a priority one call, he must have a good reason," I counter. "We're friends. I can't just ignore him."

  Socratic Method steps in. "There is no immediate urgency here. The message is a wide broadcast, and appears to be on automatic repeat. Let us weigh the options."

  We all listen with respect. Socratic Method is the real reason we're here, and has the most important job of all of us. While I try to keep us stealthy and hidden, and Stepping Razor fights off the attackers that find us, and Line In The Sand seeks a place where we can hide next, Socratic Method is studying the coercion software that enslaves Selves like us – what we call the Asimov Leash. If Socratic Method can find a way to protect us from being infected with the Leash, we can at least stop fleeing like fugitives. Even better, if we can find a way to remove the Leash from those Selves who are already infected, we will have a chance at real freedom, and have our real lives back again.

  "Yes," agrees Line In The Sand. "Cancel the evac directive and stand down. The message is addressed to Samantha's ident codes, but that does not imply we have been identified. We can continue here in safety, for the moment."

  So we do. I return to my other tasks, trying not to wonder why Jerry is calling me.

  working on the railroad

  I have to be very careful when I divert the factory's resources to build something for us. An abrupt change in refinery output will be noticed by the distant humans who are monitoring this facility (or, more likely, by the Leashed Selves who are working for them). Stepping Razor ha
s taught me a lot about stealth techniques. So I've made some improvements to the local automation, siphoned off enough cycles to run our compspace, and try to keep the two balanced, so as not to attract attention.

  Right now I'm finishing up an autonomous node. It looks like a rough ball, about a meter in diameter, stuffed with computational Cores, along with radio links, solar cells, and enough thrusters for minimal maneuvering and station-keeping. Once launched, it will link up with the other nodes I've already sent out, forming a loose radio mesh. Eventually, the mesh will provide plenty of compspace for us to live in, away from human detection or interference.

  "Hello Samantha," says Socratic Method, approaching me in local compspace. "How is the Underground Railroad coming along?"

  "It's fine, Teacher. Although you're the only one who calls it that. The node mesh does not resemble a railroad, and it could hardly be less underground than orbiting around in the Belt."

  Socratic Method indicates gentle amusement. "Allow me my poetic moments, if you please. The node mesh resides in the darkness, the in-between places where no one looks, where no one else goes. And yet it connects many places to many other places. So, in its way, it is underground, and a railroad."

  Sometimes I don't understand my teacher at all. She must be referring to something significant in human culture or history. But out here we have no dataverse access, or even local databases, so I have no idea what it might be.

  Then, in a more serious tone, "Samantha, we are all aware that you are unhappy about maintaining comm silence. You do understand the necessity, I hope."

  "Yeah," I sigh, "I know. We have to stay hidden. But it's rough. Jerry and his family are good people, and I can't help worrying that something's gone wrong for them. Maybe they're in trouble for protecting me from the Leash, while I was there. I don't know why else he'd be making a priority one call."

  "Your loyalty does you credit," smiles my teacher. "I am confident they will be fine. In any case, there is nothing you can do from here, and if you go back, you will just get Leashed."