Regen
The councilman in front of him was one of those people; Rellin Tralo had risen from the ranks of a common citizen to the position of councilman in a very short span of time and had the backing of both religious zealots and liberal firestarters – no mean feat for any politician.
“I’m sorry, councilman Tralo,” Keno said slowly, “but any faster and the entire matrix would de-stabilize. We want to present you with a healthy and powerful army to win the war, not one that will self-destruct after the first battle has been fought.” He knew a large measure of Tralo’s support came from his aggressive stance regarding the war – no one was more vocal in Chambers than the thin man about defending planetary freedoms and pushing the invaders back into black, empty space.
Of course, Keno knew full well that it was his planet that had invaded first and the strikes now were only retaliation. Most citizens knew the same but chose to ignore such information in the face of constant news reports from the front lines – colonies at the outer edge of controlled space that were under heavy attack from Nalbis ships. Each day a new horror appeared on monitors across the globe, fresh destruction for citizens to endure.
“That’s just fine, my boy,” Tralo said with a broad smile. He was younger than Keno and most of the others in the room but had a way of seemingly wise and elderly; a combination of ill-fitting sweaters, owlish glasses and a slow gait made the guise almost believable. Even more senior members of the council by term of service deferred to Tralo, nodding in unison as he spoke. “We’re all proud of your efforts. You’re helping to secure a future for our world and its colonies,” his voice rose as he turned, one fist raised in defiance, “and your innovations are to be commended! You are the highest form of patriot, the most noble of men. You sacrifice, you endure. You are the future.” It was a pretty speech, but Keno knew it wasn’t really for his benefit - there were always cameras recording, always photos being taken wherever Tralo went. The councilman needed to make a good impression, no matter the circumstance.
The man and his retinue filed out, and Keno felt a sense of calm return as he leaned in to tweak his droid’s circuits. He didn’t enjoy showing off his work to direct superiors, let alone those with political leanings. Though regenerative cybernetics meant good men and women wouldn’t have to die in service to their planet, he had no interest in the technology he’d developed being perverted into a weapon of colonization rather than repulsion.
“It won’t work, you know,” a voice came from the shadows. “They’ll discover what you’ve done soon enough.”
“I’m well aware of that, Burnaby,” Keno said acidly. “And I don’t care. Tralo and his cronies can scream all they want but the damage is already done – it’s in the base-level programming, now, and all through the regen circuitry.”
“That won’t matter.” His former assistant came sweeping out of the back work area, face drawn. “You know that. Once they discover what’s happened you’ll be given two options: remove what you’ve done or facing the firing squad.” Tralo had implemented the archaic punishment for “traitors”, a term that was often used to cover those who disagreed with his ideas in public.
“Then he can shoot me,” Keno spat out the words. “I won’t change the programming.” The army would function just as intended, respond to any attack and let Tralo take back the colonies, but any attempt to use the regenerative technology for aggressive action would lead to refusal of the battle-droids to cooperate; under duress they would simply shut down.
“I know that,” Burnaby said as he moved closer. “But you’re not the only one Tralo can lean on. I’m not sure I can endure without some kind of encouragement.”
Keno let his hands drop and turned to face the shorter man. Burnaby had been “reassigned” after several conflicts with higher-ranking members of the technology consortium, and while he had always been a capable assistant he didn’t share Keno’s views on the state of society and its disturbing shift to a more confrontational space policy.
“I beg your pardon?” His voice was ice. “What exactly are you saying?”
“It’s a simple solution, Ken,” Burnaby turned out an oily smile. “You give me the last bit of detail I need to make regen technology work in my field, and I get rich. You get the benefit of knowing that your little side-project is covered no matter what Tralo sends my way.”
The arc-spanner was in Keno’s hand without thought and he drove forward, thumbing the contact as it touched Burnaby’s chest. A guttering scream escaped the short man’s lips and then he slumped forward, eyes open in shock.
Keno moved quickly, before emotion had time to catch his action, dragging Buraby’s limp form across the lab to the scrap-metal liquefier. In moments the body was nothing more than a bubbling mass, one quickly scoured away by intense heat.
He frowned slightly and then moved back to the line of droids, more tools coming to hand. There was no doubt the murder would be found out, eventually, much as his modifications to the army. Tralo would be furious and a firing squad was the likely conclusion, but the work had to be protected – flesh and blood beings were monsters by nature, but those constructed of metal and circuit could be something more.
Something better.
- D
No comments:
Post a Comment