I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising Read online

  “Now I am asking you, as my sergeant, to go round up the men. We have to train for border patrol, and we go online in less than 48 hours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Carl went off to round up the men. Peter was definitely concerned about his brother’s stability. The transmission out of Tora Bora was a definite lapse in judgment. Carl possessed great power but lacked the judgment that came from experience, and Peter was afraid it would corrupt him if left unchecked. The brass must’ve felt this way too, hence Carl’s demotion.

  Truthfully, Peter understood Carl’s resentment. He had survived a botched mission in Xcaret. He saw his whole unit murdered by malfunctioning drones and the Navajas. By process of elimination, he had become captain. However, Peter had returned, which precluded Carl’s promotion. In fact, Carl’s resentment at his demotion registered as disappointment in Peter’s survival. Peter felt a little stung by this, but he knew that wasn’t how Carl meant it or how he really felt.

  Peter knew he’d have to keep him in line. Disciplined. The world was watching them. Hell, their own country was divided regarding the Infantry Drone Program. He had to run a tight operation, or the consequences would be dire for everyone involved.

  Chapter 5

  When they reached the airfield, several members of the press were waiting, digi-cams and media multi-taskers in hand. Peter saw one reporter wearing a Fox News logo, another wearing CNN. There were a few local stations represented.

  They began to stir as Peter marched forward with his company in ranks behind him.

  “Company halt,” Carl barked.

  The company halted in organized rows. The reporters were taking video and still photos of the soldiers in the curiously sci-fi looking uniforms and masks concealing their faces. Peter knew they were trying to figure out which was the Automaton.

  “Company, atten-tion,” Carl barked. He found it amusing that he now served as Peter’s mouthpiece. Everyone stood at attention.

  Lieutenant Farrow was standing next to Kettle and Peter. Peter began, “As you know, our objective is now to patrol the border with Mexico.” He looked directly at the reporters. “Strictly defensive.” He looked back at his unit. “Lieutenant Farrow has been kind enough to whip up a few more toys to help us accomplish this. Every squad will now have a spotter who will be equipped with a precision rifle. This rifle will contain rounds that serve as tags.”

  Peter picked up the rifle. “Your job will be to identify targets and tag them. This will, in turn, draw the infantry drones to the signal emitted by the tag. The infantry drones will pursue until the targets are apprehended. Casualties will be avoided when possible. The Sweepers will be roving, radar mounted on jeeps to provide remote surveillance.” He nodded to Carl.

  “Company, break into squads,” Carl barked.

  Seven squads of ten were formed. Spotters were assigned and equipped with said rifles and tags. Each squad leader was equipped with an amygdala inhibitor kill switch for their fifty infantry drones.

  The drones were stored in crates, sitting ominously off to the right of the men. The reporters had not yet taken notice of them.

  Peter turned to the reporters. “In this exercise, we are going to simulate border patrol and practice tagging bogies. Once tagged, we will coordinate the pursuit of the infantry drones.”

  At their mention, the reporters stirred excitedly. This was going to be the first time they saw them up close. This was the first time any civilians were going to see them up close…and live to tell the tale.

  Peter continued, “The targets are out there on the outer perimeter of the airfield.” He gestured with his hand. There was some murmuring from the reporters about the pigs being positioned on the far side of the airfield.

  Peter nodded to Kettle, who disengaged the digi-locks on the three large shipping crates and stepped away cautiously. The reporters were looking at the crates with morbid anticipation.

  As the first drones stumbled out, dogs ran up along each side of the crates and funneled the undead out into the airfield. Each squad of human soldiers ran up alongside its cluster of drones. The reporters gasped at the sight of the undead.

  Perhaps the reporters expected some kind of android or robot. To their shock and horror, there marched the drones in all of their putrescent glory. Their decomposition was largely camouflaged by their own futuristic looking black suits, but their shambling, hissing, and clouded eyes gave them away.

  They weren’t mechanical…at least not in the inorganic sense. No wires, no motors. Just shuffling bodies moaning with what could only be interpreted as feral hunger.

  Kettle blew a whistle and the dogs began to fan the squads out. He then raised a Sweeper in the distance operating radar mounted on the back of a jeep. “How’s the picture?”

  A voice answered back on his mini-com, “Crystal clear, sir. I’m registering a dozen bogies. The drones are closing in.”

  The undead staggered across the airfield at a staccato but steady clip. The pigs in the distance had no idea what was coming for them.

  Peter spoke into his mini-com, “Cronos, start to tag the targets.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Peter now spoke to the reporters. “And now our Spotter will begin to tag the targets so that when the drones close in and they begin to run, the drones will be able to track their movements.”

  Cronos raised his sniper rifle, rested it in the crook of his shoulder, and located the pigs in his scope. He made adjustments for distance, wind speed, and direction. Then he fired the first tag.

  He nailed the pig right in its rump, and it jumped and took off. The other pigs shifted about uneasily, alarmed by their compatriot’s flight. When Cronos tagged another, and then another, they all began to scatter like greased hogs at a rodeo.

  “Tags deployed,” Cronos informed Peter.

  The Sweeper in the jeep began to coordinate the movement of the squads to engage the bogies. The reporters were pointing and whispering as they saw the dogs begin to fan the drones out across the width of the airfield by squad.

  Then, coming within range of the tags, the undead began to pursue the bogies in a self-directed fashion. The pigs ran, and the drones followed. A pig would stop to rest, the drones would catch up, and the pig would begin to run again.

  “This is the advantage of our drones,” Peter said to the reporters. “Unlike their targets, they never tire, they never lose focus, and they never give up.”

  There were gasps from the reporters as it became evident, even from a distance, the pigs were beginning to tire. The squads of undead were closing in on them in their relentless pursuit.

  Peter spoke into his mini-com, “Squads, ready your AI kill switches.” Then he turned to the reporters. “Each squad leader is equipped with a kill switch that will deactivate the drones.”

  One squad of undead began to reach out for its exhausted prey. “Tango squad, hit it.” Suddenly the drones in that squad became perfectly motionless. No twitching, no chest heaving from breathing. They looked like statues. The reporters began to stir as they instructed their cameramen to zoom in.

  Another squad of undead ran down another pig. “Alpha squad, hit it.” And just like Tango squad, the drones became motionless.

  One-by-one, as each pig was caught, the infantry drones were immobilized, the terrified pig caged in the outstretched arms of the undead.

  Peter spoke into his mini-com, “Sweeper, scan for casualties.”

  There was a brief pause. “Zero casualties, sir.”

  Peter was relieved. The training exercise had gone off as planned. None of the pigs was harmed. It was a successful demonstration of the non-lethal force of the infantry drones.

  He turned to the reporters, “As you can see, all of the targets were apprehended, and there were zero casualties.”

  The reporters were dumbfounded. They were apparently in awe of what they just saw. Then one of them began to point. It was the reporter from CNN. He looked horrified. “Look!” The others began to panic.
Peter heard shrieks from behind him.

  Confused, Peter turned to look at the airfield. The drones of Delta squad were tearing its captive pigs to pieces.

  “Delta squad, report.”

  “The AI switch is malfunctioning, sir. The drones are mobile.”

  Then one-by-one, the undead from each squad began to move and rip its hog to pieces. The screams of the mortified pigs filled the airfield, and within each cluster of drones, there was a frenzy of blood and guts.

  Peter was barking commands into his mini-com.

  “Alpha squad, engage kill switch.”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Delta squad, engage…”

  “Negative, sir. The drones are autonomous.”

  The whole exercise was falling apart in front of him, and he was powerless to do anything about it. The reporters were shooting everything. It was a disaster.

  Then Peter turned and glared at Carl. “Make them stop. NOW.”

  Carl stood there looking at his big brother. If Peter wasn’t mistaken, he would have sworn Carl was smiling under his mask. He appeared to be looking off to the left, but no one was there.

  “NOW, Sergeant.”

  Just like that, the drones ceased their frenzy. They were statues once again.

  The reporters were going wild, blurting out questions.

  “Is that what the drones are designed to do?”

  “What are these drones, Captain?”

  “Is that what’s going to happen to illegal border crossers?”

  “That soldier you ordered to stop them, is that the Automaton?”

  “How does the Automaton control the drones?”

  “Who controls the Automaton?”

  “The exercise is over,” Peter announced to the reporters. “No questions at this time.”

  Peter had Carl round up the men and the drones were being directed back towards their respective shipping crates as MP’s escorted the reporters off the airfield. They were shouting protests as they were driven off.

  ***

  At home, Barry Birdsall was watching Channel 8. The young female reporter was shouting into her microphone as she was being jostled off the airfield.

  “You saw it yourself, the drones mauling their targets…blood everywhere…there must have been some kind of technical difficulty…the soldier, who must have been none other than the Automaton, was instructed to stop the murderous assault of the infantry drones.”

  He sat there dumbfounded in his recliner, wondering how it all could have gone so wrong so quickly. He wondered why Carl had allowed it to go so far without stopping it sooner.

  Channel 8 cut to anchors, Mark Wasserman and Lisa Gorton.

  “There apparently was some kind of accident on the airfield. The drones weren’t supposed to attack the targets,” Wasserman pointed out.

  “It makes you wonder if the program is ready to be used on the border,” Gorton speculated. “From the looks of it, the answer appears to be NO.”

  “Imagine if those poor pigs had been actual border crossers, Lisa.”

  Lisa pantomimed a shudder, “I don’t want to, Mark.”

  Barry began to flip through the channels. CNN had captions flashing at the bottom of the screen:

  BORDER DRONES: DEFENSE OR OFFENSE

  POTENTIAL HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION?

  The pundit, Rand Hubel, was commenting on the spectacle, “Just moments ago, an army training exercise at the Fort Bliss Airfield in Texas showcasing the infantry drones went horribly wrong, the targets being mutilated. One must ask the question: Are these drones safe?

  “There were rumors about drones going rogue in Xcaret, Mexico, but the reports are unsubstantiated. The soldier, whose identity remains a secret, dubbed the Man from Tora Bora, ended this catastrophe. But it is unclear how he did it.

  “There was apparently a malfunctioning of an electronic restraint that activates and deactivates the drones. This Man from Tora Bora was apparently ordered to stop the drones, and he did. We go to our panel composed of Gary Hauser, our senior military correspondent…” an older, slightly pudgy, grey-haired man appeared on screen, “…Senator Michaels of Massachusetts, who is opposed to the House of Representatives Oversight Committee’s conclusions to allow the Infantry Drone Program to continue…” a tall, thin man with slicked back hair appeared on screen, “…and human rights expert, Dr. Roman Spencer from Harvard University,” a tall, bald, professorial black man with glasses appeared on screen.

  “Senator Michaels, let’s begin with you. Is this what you expected from the Infantry Drone Program?”

  “Yes, Rand, this is exactly what I expected. Given all of the technology at the army’s disposal, there is no way that these undead drones can be controlled properly. They don’t think, they have no judgment, and they are driven by pure instinct.”

  “But, to play devil’s advocate, isn’t that the nature of a drone, Senator?” Rand asked.

  “Drones have traditionally been mechanical, smart weapons over which we exercise complete control,” Michaels explained. “These are some kind of necro-mechanical drones that are guided by dogs and handlers. They were designed to infiltrate cave systems, not patrol a border.”

  “But our traditional airborne drones are designed to use lethal force, which would make them inappropriate for border patrol,” Rand pointed out.

  “Well, as we just saw, I think that these infantry drones are quite lethal as well. They were intended to be boots on the ground, but I don’t think the mutilation of border crossers was a part of the plan,” Michaels added.

  Rand turned to Spencer, “Which brings us to an interesting human rights question, Dr. Spencer: Is it a human rights violation to use deadly force on border crossers?”

  “Absolutely,” Spencer declared. “These are mostly people who are leaving behind their birthplace, their homes, to sacrifice all to find a better life in this country. They don’t deserve to be torn to shreds like that.”

  “But some would argue that some of these border crossers are Mexican drug cartel or terrorists masquerading as Mexican emigrants,” Rand said.

  “Absolutely,” Spencer retorted, “but does that justify tearing apart every border crosser to catch the one or two criminals in every ten or twenty? I think not. Besides, there is a thing in this country called due process.”

  “This raises another interesting question,” added Rand. “Are we empowering our military to be judge, jury, and executioner in addressing these border crossers? Does every border crosser face a brutal death sentence if caught?” He turned to Hauser, “Gary, is this the proper use of our infantry drones?”

  “This was obviously a program designed for offense,” Gary said. “After the UN Security Council threatened sanctions, we shifted to defense. But are we trying to force square pegs into round holes?”

  “So the question is,” Rand added, “why wasn’t this program dismantled? Why are the President and our military determined to make use of these infantry drones?”

  “Perhaps a great deal of money was invested into this technology,” Gary posited. “An awful lot of necro-mechanical research went into the development of this technology, and we don’t fully understand its potential yet. Supporters of this technology will tout how it is saving the lives of countless U.S. soldiers. But what about the lives of border crossers?”

  Spencer jumped in. “Exactly. Most of these border crossers are tradesman—tile workers, builders—who are looking for opportunity in this country. They are not terrorists. Yet, we are willing to slaughter them like animals. I definitely think there is a xenophobic undercurrent to this program that frankly is un-American.”

  “What about this Man from Tora Bora we keep hearing about?” Rand asked. “He somehow controls these drones. Is this too much power in the hands of one man? What is the mechanism that we aren’t seeing?”

  Barry switched to Fox News. There was a panel already under way.

  “Illegal border crossers represent a major threat to national sec
urity,” said a very polished looking middle-aged woman with a retro 2017-esque hairdo.

  “Are you saying that border crossers deserve to be met with lethal force?” asked the host, Efram Peabody.

  “I am saying that maybe these drones will serve as a powerful deterrent to those considering entering our country illegally.”

  “That’s preposterous,” blurted a Latino man, who must have been the token Democrat on the panel. “The punishment doesn’t fit the crime.”

  “Well, nothing else seems to be deterring these illegal immigrants,” said a portly man with glasses. “Our government refuses to build a wall. So what else are we left with? Besides, we tried to put cameras on the border fence, but they were shot to pieces. Should we place live soldiers on the ground to be shot at, too?”

  “These people want to get in because America is still the greatest country in the world,” said the woman with the retro do. “And they want to take advantage of all of our entitlements. Welfare, food stamps, Medicaid. Why wouldn’t they want to come? Our government insists on expanding entitlements. It’s like a magnet to these people. And now you have the President using this infantry drone unit to try to make us think he’s trying to do something about illegal immigrants.”

  “Oh, come on,” said the Latino man, “I thought you were all for these drones.”

  “I am all for fewer entitlements,” retorted the woman, “but since our government doesn’t want to do that, yes, I’m for these drones. Enough half-measures. Something needs to be done.”

  “So placing man eating zombies along the border is the answer,” challenged the Latino man. “You are a Christian woman. How do you reconcile using such atrocities? It’s unnatural.”

  She leaned forward in her seat, “Placing live soldiers—our sons and daughters, brothers and sisters—on the border to be shot at is unnatural.”

  “There is no question,” added the portly man with glasses, “that these infantry drones save lives.”

  “Where do these drones come from?” demanded the Latino man. “Notice how the military is so hush-hush about that little detail.”