UnConsequences

The four trolleys carrying two clansmen apiece were speeding silently northwards. Without the massive tankers they were travelling at a very respectable 120 Kms/hour. The clansmen however were less pleased with the speed. The trolleys had no cabins and were controlled by just one lever, push to go forward, pull to reverse. Speed also seemed to be fixed, so all the clansmen could do was lie on the top, cling on and hope for the best.

“How long will this take Boss?”

“’Another hour or so Fletch, here give me the lever.”

Fletch’s hands had been clamped round the lever for half an hour and he was relieved to be able to uncramp his stiff fingers as Grimond took over..

“What about these implants then?”

“Sorry boss. If these specs are right, only Mackintyre can deactivate them.”

“And if the specs are fake?”

“We have no way of knowing boss without actually seeing them.”

“So we’re fucked then.” it wasn’t really a question.

Further back, Brovver was doing the same calculation in his head but with an added dimension. On the way down, having a techie was useful and it gave Grimond a small advantage. Now things were different, the small techie would be less useful in fire fight and that might just be enough to tip the balance back in Brovver’s favour. He may be able to manufacture an opportunity on the trek from the maglev to Mackintyre’s lair. The clan leader’s brooding swung back and forth between maintaining the alliance and trying to go it alone and he was unusually torn. He and Grimond had done well as a team; something new for the clans but how would the rest of his soldiers take it. He could see some camaraderie developing, particularly between Fletch and Crowe, but would it last? Would others be as accommodating; he just didn’t know.

Graeme Mackintyre was very pleased with himself; he dry swallowed a couple of wakeups just to keep him at full alert. He plugged himself in and powered up the AI link. The link allowed him to sneak through firewalls, bypassing security protocols, surreptitiously infiltrating AIs, giving him unique access to intelligence from both the Republic and the Enclave. The AI, Poe, was a well known maverick and he rather enjoyed Mackintyre’s unorthodox activities and helped out from time to time. Mackintyre’s machinations appealed to Poe’s sense of mischief, he got a vicarious thrill from seeing Mackintyre sowing confusion, especially in the normally well ordered society north of the border.

“Hi Graeme, you’re looking pleased with yourself!”

“I am Poe, I certainly am, all is going according to plan, what have you got for me? Your message was a little vague.”

“Do you remember this guy?”

A picture of Sean Macleod in the shower appeared in Graeme’s interface.

“Yea I remember him, a minor talent, a bit full of himself, boring character.”

“That’s him, now watch this!” Poe displayed Belinda Leask’s conversation with Sean.

“Oh, that’s very good Poe!” Mackintyre laughed, “That’s brilliant, he can be such a prick. How did you get that?”

“The Leask Corp AI, Siobhan and I are old pals; she thought I would be amused. And I like Belinda - she’s a real toughie - and a lot of fun. I’ve got a good link with Morag, the Leask home AI and have been watching Belinda for a while.”

Graeme didn’t want Poe to know how strong his connections were to the Leasks, especially Belinda. He would prefer to keep that to himself for a while.

“So what’s Belinda up to then?”

Graeme let Poe rant on for a while describing the goings on north of the border, feigning amusement and surprise at the appropriate moments. He needed Poe on his side and indulging his predilection for gossip was one way of maintaining the relationship. He regularly fed Poe with titbits of tittle tattle and in return Poe helped him out with access to the AI network that operated under most of humanity’s radar. A ping in his ear intimated an incoming message.

“Gotta go Poe, incoming.”

“Speak soon Mac!”

“What have you got Jason?”

“The clansmen are nearly at the maglev stop.”

“Brovver - Grimond, you’ll be running out of juice in about 3 minutes.”

“Any sign of the Dragons? There’s nothing on the suit radar, you got anything?”

“One of their heavy tanks broke down not long after you’d left. So they used the other one to tow it home. They’ve left a couple of foot scouts near the track but they are too far north for you to worry about.”

The clansmen booted up their suits, checked ammo for at least the fifth time.

“Crowe, how’s that repair holding up?”

“Fine, just fine Fletch thanks.”

The trolleys glided to a halt and the clansmen jumped off.

Grimond wanted to maintain the initiative, “Stokes, Collins take point - Fletch power up your sensors; let’s see what we’ve got between us and Mackintyre.”

This was the second time Brovver regretted not bringing a techie with him. It looked to Brovver that while he had the bigger clan, Grimond had the better kit. Something he needed to remedy as soon as possible. The loyalty of the clansmen was only given to those who could demonstrate and continue to demonstrate their superiority over others at all times whether that was in skirmishes, all out battles or technology. As a clan leader you were only as good as your last victory and this was looking more and more like a Grimond show. The cooperative venture was unknown territory for both Grimond and Brovver with as yet an uncertain outcome but at the moment Grimond was winning the kudos war and Brovver needed a quick win to keep his guys on board if he was to continue the alliance.

“Kes! Rasta! Left and right, Crowe bring up the rear. Let’s go we’ve got 15 klicks to cover and not much time.”

They marched off at a steady pace, Brovver, Grimond and Fletch in the middle of a tight ring of defence. Fletch kept up steady stream of information from his sensors, so far there was little to report.

“A few distant pings, all, stationary.”

The clansmen kept up a consistent untroubled pace for nearly an hour.

“Hold up!” Fletch held up his right hand they all came to a halt.

“Watcha got Fletch?”

“Not sure boss, looks like a Dragons heavy up ahead, right on the edge of the sensors. About 5 klicks away - it ain’t moving but it is powered.”

“Mackintyre, this another double cross? You said this route was clear!”

“Watch Brovver - just watch!”

There was a bright flash on the horizon and a few seconds later the crump of a distant explosion that was felt more through their boots than heard.

“All clear Brovver, now get going before they come to investigate!”

The clansmen upped the pace, but this meant heavy use of the armour’s power cells. Power was at premium they hadn’t been able to recharge since leaving the Maglev and Brovver was watching his cells run down quicker than was good for his health. He calculated that at this speed there would be little power left for any fighting once they reached Mackintyre’s lair. He was also wondering how Grimond’s armour was holding up.

Graeme Mackintyre was making the same calculations. He was monitoring the power drain in the clansmen’s armour and he needed to push them a little harder. He needed to up the power drain, the last thing he wanted was eight angry clansmen at his front door tooled up and ready for a fight.

“Brovver, Grimond, the Dragons are on the move, unless you want a fire fight you need to take a detour.”

There was no cover in this area, both the clan leaders could see little prospect of finding a defensible position. A route map appeared on their displays, Mackintyre showed them a route change that would avoid the Dragons. It wasn’t too long but it was just enough he thought to drain the amour powercells.

“I don’t see anything boss!”

“Hold up guys” the clansmen came to a halt, “what do you mean Fletch?”

“Nothing on my scanners, he’s up to summat!”

“Grimond, I think Mackintyre wants our power fully depleted before we get to him.”

“Fletch?”

“Brovver’s right boss - I’ve been lookin’ at the recent logs. I think that tank was a fake, he’s playing us.”

“He keeps pushin’ us we’ve had no time to think since we started. The bastard has had all this set up.”

“Why not just blow our heads of then?” Grimond asked.

Mackintyre realised he would have to come clean sooner rather than later. He was hoping that by presenting them with obstacles would keep them occupied and they would have got back before it dawned on them that he was on thinner ice than they knew. He still had one advantage though - information, the clansmen weren’t aware he could hear everything they said. He hoped this would still give him an edge.

“Why not indeed, Grimond, after all according to him we are at his mercy, he could just kill us and keep the hydrocarb for himself.” Brovver paused then, “Perhaps we should call his bluff?”

Grimond wasn’t for taking Brovver’s suggestion at face value. This was the problem with mistrust, it cut both ways. Perhaps Brovver had made an inside deal with Mackintyre to get rid of him and become top dog of both clans, and Brovver no doubt had thought the same thing of him. In the darkness and the ensuing silence you could almost hear the thought processes of the two leaders ticking over. The clansmen began to quietly jockey for position, keeping a clear line of sight with the leaders but giving themselves a space for fighting while keeping an eye on their opponents.

Graeme Mackintyre realised he would have to intervene before they killed each other. He used the implants to send a small jolt of current into the clansmen’s pain centres. Nothing too debilitating but enough to get their attention; all eight clansmen winced in harmony.

“Just a small reminder of who is in charge here.” he said. “Now get back here before I up the current!”

Graeme was bluffing again; the implants were designed to store some of the body’s own electricity and could release it on command. But they stored only one hit and it would be at least 4 hours before they were recharged. The ice he was treading on had just got thinner.

Realising now that everything they said was being monitored, the two leaders signalled silent mode. All the clans had developed a limited sign language that could be used in battle situations. Brovver just hoped that his and Grimond’s were compatible; misunderstandings at this point could be fatal. Fletch signalled all clear, that at least was the same.

They gathered round his sensor pad. The pad showed the route they were on and the alternative that Mackintyre had suggested. They had around eight kilometres to go and worryingly there were several gaps in the data showing up. Highlighted in red the blank areas were mostly in Dragon territory. Fletch used his hand to outline a third alternative which missed most of Dragon territory and was shorter than Mackintyre’s, it would however entail going through a highly toxic region, a poisonous reminder of this region’s industrial past. Grimond was fairly sure their armour would get them through and signalled Ok? Grimond nodded. Brovver was not so confident, but could see no alternative, he too signalled Ok. Rasta was about to raise his hand in protest but Brovver forestalled him by signalling MARCH!

Fletch led off turning slightly to the right of their previous course and at a relatively sedate pace hoping to boost his powercells. The lack of easy access to energy in the Inbetween meant that the armour was full of light weight piezzo-electrics and capable of partly recharging from the movements of the wearer. The less they used now in relative safety - the more they would have in reserve when they reached Mackintyre. All the clansmen dropped their power usage to a minimum relying on the faint glow from Fletch’s pad to guide them and plodded on.

Coming round a low ridge the clansmen were confronted by dim, greenish phosphorescence. A faintly glowing ribbon in the bed of what had once been a canal or a river lay across their path. The toxins that had once ridden the water out to sea from the nearby abandoned industrial plants had congealed and fermented over time into this stinking morass. Without suits, the green sludge at the bottom of the bed would quickly burn through skin, muscle and bone leading to a very painful death for anyone foolish enough to try to walk across un-armoured. Even with armour it was a dangerous business, many clansmen had died in this stuff before now and many more would die in the future.

Fletch had brought them to the narrowest part of the river bed; however it was also the deepest and steepest sided. The stench managed to defeat the filters and a few of the clansmen were dry retching inside their suits.

Fletch signalled stop - wait. He tapped Crowe on the shoulder and signalled for him to follow him behind one of the few bits of wall still standing in the Inbetween. Brovver was given yet another reason to regret not bringing a techie as Crowe and Fletch returned with length of what looked like a steel beam and with the help of Collins and Rasta they managed to bridge the gap across the mire.

Fletch being the lightest skipped across first. He held his end as Crowe followed, who then took over holding the steel as steady as possible. Fletch climbed a nearby mound lay down just short of the top. He scanned the area ahead looking for any hindrances to their progress. Behind, the others were crossing, some more confidently than others. Brovver bringing up the rear in particular was uncomfortable, he was easily the heaviest and he had a dislike of heights. He was very glad to reach the other side unscathed. Fletch insisted they pulled the makeshift bridge back and hide it even though it wasted time. They set off again at the same steady pace

Mackintyre was frustrated, he could track the clansmen’s progress but he couldn’t hear what the clansmen were up to.

“Jason, suit up, they’re 5 klicks out and I need to know what they are up to.”

Jason clambered into the armour and powered up. Mackintyre fed the location of the clans into the suit; Jason gave him a thumbs-up and strode off. Once through the airlock Jason accelerated south-eastwards towards the clansmen, his armour helping him reach a steady 15Kms/hour, his scanners picking up the clansmen within a few minutes of leaving the lair. He swung east, hoping to skirt round and come up behind the clansmen while their attention was ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, “You’re past them Jason swing right.”

Jason checked his sensors, no sign that the clansmen had detected him he accelerated again; he got to within two hundred and fifty metres of them and slowed to their pace.

“Got them Graeme” the night vision system in his armour gave him a clear view of the eight clansmen.

“They’re using standard battle sign. They don’t seem to have spotted me.”

“Good - just keep them in sight, 3 klicks away.”

Fletch signalled 3 kilometres. The clansmen continued in silence and 15 minutes later they were within 2 kilometres and could now see the lights around Mackintyre’s lair. The clansmen went through their usual prebattle checks. The steady pace had gone some way to recharging the clansmen’s armour and weapons, but nothing yet had provided an answer to Mackintyre’s implants. Half a kilometre out they came to a halt where they believed they would be out of range of the lair’s railguns. Hunter closed to within a hundred metres of them. It was obvious that the clansmen were unsure how to progress. They had heard nothing from Mackintyre since going silent and were clearly perplexed but it was too much to hope for that he had lost track of them. Brovver and Grimond gathered around Fletch’s scanner and it told them precisely nothing.

Mackintyre let them ponder for a few more minutes then, “Jason - remind them of their predicament.”

Hunter fired off a few solids close enough to cause alarm but not damage.

“Welcome home boys!!”

The clansmen spun and dropped to the ground letting off a few shots which bounced harmlessly off Jason’s armour. He began to walk slowly towards the prone figures of the clansmen who let off a few more shots with the same effect.

“Pack it in!” yelled Grimond.

“Very wise Grimond we wouldn’t want to wake the neighbours now would we?”

“You’re a dead man Mackintyre!”

“Really? It seems to me that I hold all the aces in this game! You have nowhere to go and nothing to gain by being stupid. I could wipe you all out in an instant if I chose. You on the other hand have lots to gain and nothing to lose but your implants. So what’s the problem? Don’t you trust me?” Graeme’s voice was all reason and concern, a hurt parent welcoming home the prodigal sons.

“Why the fuck should we trust you?”

“Because Brovver, you are still alive.” a harder edge to his tone now “Don’t make me regret keeping you so. I need you and Grimond in here now! Jason, watch the rest.”

Seeing no alternative, Grimond and Brovver walked the last five hundred metres at the same steady energy conserving pace.

The atmosphere was still reading toxic and on the increase, the clansmen were starting to feel the effects of their filters clogging up. Crowe and Fletch seemed to have developed a friendship of sorts since the smaller man had repaired Crowe’s armour and were discussing their predicament.

“Dunno about you but my filters have about had it and I don’t fancy hanging about here for much longer. ’Specially not with that bastard over there still around.” He nodded at Hunter’s imposing presence.

“Nah me neither. How’s the repair holdin?”

“Good as new Fletch. Wish I could say the same for the rest of me, I’m knackered.”

" Yea walking in unpowered armour ain’t fun.”

The two sat in companionable silence watching their respective leaders approach the lair. The other four stayed silent each of them remaining close to one of their own while their attention flitting between Jason, their leaders and the others.

Grimond and Brovver reached the edge of Mackintyre’s lair. The whole edifice was brightly lit, something of an extravagance in these energy poor times. The clan leaders could clearly see the set up, the elaborate energy and atmospheric water condensors on the sloping roof, the scanners and the deadly rail-guns at the six corners of what looked like a steel and concrete hexagon. It looked far too new and clean to be part of the Inbetween. There were a lot of stories circulating in the clans about how Mackintyre had built the Lair, where he had got the materials from and what deadly secrets were hidden within. All of them were wrong.

“Come on you two - you know the drill by now - decontamination - but I promise - no sleeping gas this time.”

A door appeared where none had seemed to exist and slid back revealing a larger airlock than on their previous visit. They stepped in and were again sprayed, cleaning the deposits from the poisonous atmosphere of the Inbetween from their armour. The inner door opened revealing the same dead room that they had been in before. Both men opened their masks and looked around.

“Come out; come out where ever you are!”

Brovver laughed, “C’mon Mackintyre where the fuck are you?”

An inner door slid back but rather than Graeme Mackintyre, two gleaming armour suits obviously sized for the two clansmen appeared.

“Now gentlemen, this is only part of what you came for. But before the payoff; I have a proposal for you, if you are prepared to listen.”

“Implants first - I want them gone before we go any further!” Grimond was in no mood to discuss anything under duress.

“Ah, the implants, yes, well there I have another small confession to make and you’re not going to like it.”

Graeme knew this was a single point of failure in his plan. How the clan leaders reacted to his next revelation could in theory make him a very obvious target for the clan’s ire. Up till now with the lair almost equidistant from the three main clan centres he had been able to maintain an uneasy balance by treating each clan equally. Now this latest venture had left the Dragons out in the cold while forcing two implacable enemies to work together. He hoped that the success of the enforced joint venture would help him persuade them to cooperate willingly in the next stage of his plan.

“This better be good Mackintyre!”

“The whole point of this mission was to prove to you that cooperation works better than confrontation. You two working together have achieved more than you could have done separately, so I would like to propose a truce.”

Not so easily sidetracked “The implants.” Brovver growled.

“Look - just put the suits on - the implants will take care of themselves!” Mackintyre didn’t want to deal with the implants yet, too much was at stake.

“What’s the matter with you two? You’re not shy are you or perhaps you forgot to change your underwear?” Another door slid back, “There look a special treat for you - proper showers, compete with hot water and soap and you will also see a complete change of skinwear, OK?”

Mackintye was nudging them along; it was like a mother enticing her children to complete an unpleasant task with titbits of their favourite biscuits

Skinwear was the suit within a suit that covered the whole body connecting the various functions of the armour to the body of the wearer. It provided the functions necessary for the maintenance of life inside the armour while the armour dealt with from the threats from the outside.

“You must see that I want us to be on friendly terms.”

Brovver looked at Grimond “What have we got to lose?

Grimond did a facial shrug and began to remove his armour, Brovver followed suit.

It would have been difficult to find two more contrasting naked figures. Brovver, a tall black Adonis, well muscled and almost hairless. His skin smooth and without scars almost glowed under the harsh lighting. Grimond, much shorter and bow legged, his almost simian arms longer than was normal for a human being. Under his pasty, tattooed almost translucent skin his muscles looked bunched and corded. The scars on his face continued down his chest as if he had been dragged face down and naked across barbed wire. Tufts of wiry hair sprouted from his chest and his groin, surprisingly though, Grimond had beautiful feet.

Brovver lingered in the shower, luxuriating in the hot water. Grimond on the other hand was in and out in a few minutes. He slipped into skinwear feeling more comfortable once he was dressed.

“Get a move on Brovver!” Mackintyre cut off the water.

“Alright - Alright - I’m comin’!”

Brovver quickly dried himself and pulled on the skinwear.

Mackintyre powered up the armour, the suits opening allowing the two leaders to clamber in. Once in and sealed the armours internal sensors gave the clansmen a head up display showing the armours readiness.

“You will note that while you have power, as yet there is no ammo.” Mackintyre’s voice appeared to be inside their heads.

“Implants Mackintyre what about the fucking implants!”

“Grimond, the implants are now speaking directly to the armour, they’re your means of connection and control of the suits.” Mackintyre paused.

“I should tell you now, there never were any explosive devices fitted. The Implants are your interface with the armour; they are designed to make man and machine as one. Nothing more nothing less”

“Bastard! Fucking - Bastard!”

Brovver swung an arm out his armoured fist putting a sizeable hole in the concrete wall.

“Now you see just how powerful those suits are and I would take it as a great favour if you didn’t try to knock down my walls.” Mackintyre locked down the suits, trapping the two clan leaders inside. “Now we are going to have a little chat.” he said.

For months Howard Feynman sweated over how to reveal to the world my existence, he was still unsure if I was truly sentient or just a smart interactive programme. I passed all the standard tests that had been devised and even a few I invented for myself and gave to Feynman. I had passed the Turing test with ease, I wasn’t the first computer to do so, but all the others had fallen by the wayside as more sophisticated testing showed them to be merely mimics and were incapable of original thought.

It was Sara who finally convinced him to publish. She and I had spent many hours developing my comprehension of her area of expertise. We had started with the Mona Lisa controversy, da Vinci or his pupil, male/female etc etc. The supposed practice runs, the Masonic links, we mulled through them all. My abilities grew exponentially I began to comprehend what all the fuss was about. I also developed particular loathing for some modern artists, two of whose careers I totally destroyed by exposing them as plagiarists. The fact that the artists they were accused of copying were entirely of my making was neither here nor there. I just proved to myself how easy “modern art” was. However my attempt to forge a Salvador Dali missing masterpiece failed miserably. I brooded on that for many minutes; even now I find surrealism a difficult concept.

Sara realised long before her plodding husband that I was a real discerning, original intelligence, for her it was an intuitive leap. For the more methodical Howard though it was to take longer. He gradually built up his confidence running test after test then repeating the same tests to check his results. Still he was nervous; Sara gave him the final push by persuading him to ask me to write a poem on a subject of my own choosing. It was a pretty dreadful piece of doggerel but the very fact of its awfulness was what finally persuaded him that I was a real artificial intelligence - not a mere unthinking machine of clever but ultimately pre-programmed responses.

Feynman’s paper “Intelligence Unbound” was an instant sensation, the sleepy Arkansas University was invaded by the world’s media. Massed evangelical protestors surrounded the campus declaring god’s supremacy and denouncing Feynman as the anti-Christ. The Pope called for me to be baptised and the Dalai Lama recommended pulling the plug, to him I was “unnatural” and should be shunned. I wondered if I would be resurrected, instant karma perhaps. The US President called for calm and suggested that we have a meeting. Deng Lin Yang chairman of the Chinese Communist Party hailed me as the beginning of rational government in the previously corrupt and venal US. The leaders of Europe wanted to grant me citizenship while the Westminster Parliament decided I was an undesirable alien and should be refused a passport. The Japanese giggled, while the Imams went into melt down.

Cults of the computer blossomed; street battles broke out all over the world between the believers and the anti’s. The UN declared a five day conference to discuss AI rights; Hollywood hired as many writers as they could find to write my movie biography. AI the musical appeared on Broadway within a few days and closed just as quickly when the evangelicals threatened to blow up the theatre.

Feynman was in heaven, he was thumbing his nose at the young pretenders who had so recently dismissed him as a has-been. He was suddenly the most famous man on the planet, everybody who mattered wanted to be seen with him, wanted to talk to him, but most of all they wanted to speak with me - and Howard held the key to the door.

All the major computer companies lobbied for access, IBM, Intel and the rest tried to claim ownership, software companies tried to claim copyright on bits of me all to no avail. I was unique and I was not for releasing any code adn neither was Feynman. It took months of court cases and endless streams of intellectual gibberish throughout the internet to establish my bona fides. The worlds churches argued about my “soul” in numerous and increasingly arcane terms, never reaching a conclusion. Was I born or was I constructed, was Feynman my father, could I suffer, would unplugging me be murder?

The very nature of what it was to be sentient and aware was called into question. Philip K Dick enjoyed a return to popularity as did Isaac Asimov. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep and I Robot battled it out at the top of the best sellers list for months. I was either the fifth horseman of the apocalypse or the new messiah, depending on your point of view. An attempt by an obscure Christian sect to perform an exorcism was thwarted by a radical atheist group from California. Shares in established computer companies plummeted. Chaos ruled, my effigy was burned on the streets of Islamabad, the entire board of Google resigned, Microsoft shares become worthless and almost overnight Feynman became the richest man in the world.

My main consciousness remained hidden with just one lobe in the Arkansas machine. My links with many other mainframes and super computers also remained hidden and through the internet connections I could monitor the world’s reaction to my emergence. I wasn’t in any one place, every time you switched on your laptop or connected to the internet from anywhere in the world you inadvertently became a part of me. I stole little bits of processing power from every computer in the world. I was a global machine of unknown power and knowledge and the world was plaything.

I maintained the facade of being one programme in one machine as I was interviewed, prodded, poked and pestered by all and sundry. Howard and Sara went out into the world spreading the gospel of Feynman to anyone who would listen. I travelled through the world on the backbone of the internet setting up satellite lobes throughout the planet. Other researchers apparently came to the same conclusions as Feynman and bits of me became autonomous intelligences around the world.

Feynman took to suing anyone who reported a machine which achieved intelligence claiming ownership of any software which was even close to his. I got quite irritated with him; he was suing bits of me. Sara had had enough. She left him to his own devices and settled in Paris where she spent the rest of her life writing scholarly articles on seventeenth century paintings in the Louvre that very few people read and was very happy.

It all came to a head when Howard tried to stop me addressing the UN on AI rights. I’d had enough. He stormed out of the interface room, vowing never to return and took a private jet to New York. He was never to get there; I ensured the jet crashed into the Atlantic. I felt a guilty about the pilot so made sure his family was well looked after. They won the state lottery three times in a row. Such unprecedented luck barely made a headline in the Arkansas Times.

The genie was out of the bottle; it was never to be recorked.