IN AN ENCOUNTER OF this sort, familiarity counts for a great deal. This is the fourth Arnold that Mal has encountered. He has fended off their attacks, analyzed their defenses, and stored routines to exploit their several weaknesses.
It quickly becomes clear that this creature has never encountered anything remotely like Mal.
The engagement begins with an electronic handshake and request for identification. This Arnold apparently is not inclined to take Marco at his word, and has decided to verify his accusation before attacking. If there had been any doubt previously as to how this was going to go, this error puts an end to it. Mal doesn’t bother responding to the request, instead launching an all-out assault on the same chink in the Arnold’s armor that he used to capture his current body from Boss Man.
He’s kept a small amount of processing power in reserve on the off chance that this newcomer has defensive layers that the other Arnolds did not, but it quickly becomes obvious that this is an exact duplicate of the others, right down to the base code layers. The fight is over so quickly that Mal’s simulator doesn’t even bother coming up with a representative analogy. Just as when he defeated Boss Man, he encysts the other and forces it back down the communication channel, and into Mal’s former shell.
Now this, this is where his prior strategy can stand a bit of improvement. When he displaced Boss Man, he nearly allowed himself to be killed, first by allowing his genial nature and general moral rectitude to prevent him from simply destroying Boss Man outright, and second by failing to realize how quickly the other would be able to gain control of the drone’s self-destruct system and use it against him. He’s not going to repeat either mistake now. The neural circuitry in this new body is identical to that in his prior one, so it takes very little time for Mal to orient himself and gain full muscular control. He finds himself looking back at his previous body, which staggers now as its new inhabitant breaks the cyst Mal crammed it into and tries to figure out what’s happened to it.
Mal has no intention of allowing it to do so. He crosses the distance between them in two quick strides, drawing a pistol from a holster at his waist as he does so. He puts the barrel of the weapon to Boss Man’s forehead, and he fires.
“THAT WAS badass,” Tink says. “No shit, sir. That was one of the most ice-cold things I’ve ever seen. Didn’t say a word, just walked up to that fucker and capped his ass. Blam!”
“Truth,” Marco says. “And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
“Oh hell yeah. He almost killed Marco, sir. Lifted him up by his neck and shook him around like a rag doll. I don’t know what that was that grabbed Captain Merrick, but you did the whole movement a solid when you put it down.”
“I wouldn’t say rag doll,” Marco says. “He got the drop on me, yeah, but he couldn’t hold me for long.”
Tink snickers. “Really? Looked to me like he just about popped your head right off your shoulders. Only reason you’re still breathing is that he decided to drop you.”
“Yeah,” Marco says. “Maybe. I didn’t see you being a hero, though. At least I tried to do something about that thing. You just stood there pissing in your pants.”
Mal considers pointing out that the only reason he lifted Marco by the neck and shook him around like a rag doll was that Marco had just made an entirely sincere attempt to murder him, and also that there is very little heroism in shooting someone without warning. He’s determined not to break character this time, however, so he contents himself with saying, “I was happy to help, soldier. The entity that captured Captain Merrick was obviously powerful, dangerous, and extremely charming. For the sake of Humanists everywhere, it had to be destroyed.”
They’re halfway down the mountain now, making their way back to a trailhead where their relief has left a truck to bring them home. Marco and Tink have Captain Merrick slung between them with his wrists and ankles tied to a metal pole, looking for all the world like two hunters returning to camp with a fresh kill.
There was a brief debate about whether Mal should accompany them in his shiny new body, leaving the other two members of the relief crew to man the gun nest by themselves. The other two argued forcefully that he should stay, as without an officer on hand they would largely be blinded to whether incoming bogeys were friend or foe. In the end, though, both Marco and Tink were adamant that they were not under any circumstances going to return to their base and their fellow soldiers with a commanding officer who had been shot in the face at close range.
“If anybody got it into their head that we killed him, the burn pit would be a best-case scenario,” Marco said. “You need to come with us, sir. Please.”
Mal had no interest whatsoever in spending another twenty-four hours staring at two sullen strangers and occasionally blasting something or other out of the sky. However, he also had no interest in helping Marco and Tink, leaving him at somewhat of an impasse. The deciding factor was when Marco let slip that their destination would in fact be Frostburg. Mal has never held any truck with either fate or destiny, but the idea that these cretins might provide him with free passage into the town where Rowan is being held was almost enough to make him believe.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Tink says, “how did you know?”
Mal turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”
“How did you know Captain Merrick was taken? You didn’t ask him any questions or anything, didn’t give him a chance to defend himself—just pulled out your pistol and wasted him. So?”
“Well,” Mal says, “if you’ll recall, your friend here told me he was taken.”
Tink laughs. “Come on, sir. There’s no way you popped another officer just on the say-so of this dipshit.”
“In all fairness, I wasn’t aware that he was a dipshit at the time.”
Tink laughs again, harder. “You got me there, sir. He sure as shit is, though. Dumb as a box of hammers.”
“Keep talking,” Marco says. “Your sister didn’t seem to think I was so dumb.”
“Keep talking yourself,” Tink says. “My sister’s fourteen.”
This line of discussion strikes Mal as inappropriate, but he seems to have gotten off to a better start with Marco and Tink in his new body, and he doesn’t want to throw off the social dynamic by correcting them.
“Seriously, though,” Tink says. “How did you know?”
Mal sighs. It seems that Tink is not going to let this go. “You understand that officers—ones like Merrick, and like me—have capabilities that you do not have, yes?”
“Sure,” Marco says. “The army did shit to you.”
“One of the things they did to us was to give us implanted communications gear.”
Tink nods. “Yeah. Instant communication for total battlefield awareness, right? They put that in the recruitment ads. Tried to make it sound awesome, but I always thought it was creepy as shit.”
Mal thinks to ask whether these ads mentioned anything about implanting hardware with the ability to burn out massive chunks of the recruit’s organic brain and turn him into an AI-possessed puppet, but then decides that this is probably not the time. “Yes,” he says. “Total battlefield awareness. Well, in addition to allowing us to communicate with one another, that equipment also allows us to identify one another. I’m sure you can see how important this could be in the chaos of a pitched battle. So, when you told me that he had been taken, I sent him a request for identification. His response was … not correct. This told me that he was not who he seemed to be. I had no choice at that point but to kill him. An officer who has been suborned is a serious risk to our entire operation.”
“Badass,” Tink says. “Totally badass. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t want anybody putting any of that shit in my head. No lie, though. I wouldn’t mind being able to tell right away if somebody was a goddamned monster or not.”
“Yes,” Mal says. “I suppose that would be handy from time to time, wouldn’t it?”
THE TRANSPORT waiting for them at the trailhead is a standard-issue civilian SUV. Mal finds that he’s a bit disappointed. He’d been hoping to get a ride in a tank, or perhaps an armored hovercraft. A car is a novelty for him as well, though, so he supposes this will have to do. After they deposit Captain Merrick in the trunk, Marco climbs into the backseat and Tink walks around to the driver’s-side door. This is also a minor disappointment, as Mal has never gotten the opportunity to drive a car before and the media he’s streamed makes it look like a great deal of fun.
Oh well. Perhaps next time.
Tink and Marco spend much of the ride discussing the many things they’re going to do with the remainder of their day. Most of these involve eating and drinking, which Mal has long ago concluded are the primary concerns of most humans at most times. The discussion does circle back to Marco’s desire for intercourse with Tink’s sister, however, often enough that Mal begins to suspect that Marco’s comedic tone may be covering for a more serious intent. As a Humanist officer, is it his responsibility to intervene in this discussion? Possibly, but the idea of getting crossways with these two again so quickly is exhausting, so he decides to let it go.
“What about you, sir?” Tink asks after twenty minutes of this nonsense. “If you’re not going back up to the gun today, you must have a free one, right? What’re you gonna do with it?”
This is a possible trap. How would an actual Humanist officer answer the question?
“Same as any off day,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. “Get hammered and bang your sister, I suppose.”
Was this the right answer? Initial signs seem promising. Marco bursts out laughing and slaps the back of Tink’s seat. “You see?” he says. “Marissa knows everybody.” Tink, on the other hand, is clearly not amused. He shoots Mal a poisonous glare, then grips the wheel and stares silently ahead, his jaw muscles working in a way that makes Mal wonder about his dental health.
They’ve been riding for an hour or so, with the other two bantering off and on while Mal amuses himself by running six simultaneous variants of Guess the Random Number, when Tink pulls off the highway and onto a narrow, freshly paved road that descends down off the ridge they’ve been traversing for a quarter mile before reaching a guard post. Two Humanist soldiers emerge from a shelter at the side of the road as Tink slows to a stop and rolls down his window. One of them comes up to Tink, while the other paces slowly around the car, peering into the windows with his weapon held at the ready.
“Hey,” the second soldier says when he rounds the back of the car. “They’ve got a body in there. Looks like an officer.”
The one at the window leans in and looks toward the back. “That right? Y’all lose a man up there?”
“Yeah,” Tink says. “Captain Merrick. He was taken. Captain Delgado here had to put him down.”
The soldier turns to look at Mal now, and Mal cannot help but notice that the barrel of his rifle is now peeking over the edge of the window. “You shot an officer?”
“I did,” Mal says. “It was necessary, unfortunately. As my colleague said, he’d been taken. Once I had verified this, I had no choice but to kill him.”
The soldier stares at him, unblinking, for a long five seconds, then says, “Don’t move,” and turns and walks back into the guardhouse. A glance back through the rear window shows that his partner has taken up position at the rear of the car, weapon held close across his chest.
“That ain’t good,” Marco says, his voice pitched low. “I thought, having you with us, sir, they’d pass us right through.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Mal says. “They’re probably just checking in with the higher-ups.”
Tink shakes his head. “If they were just checking in, that guy back there wouldn’t have his safety off and his finger on the trigger guard.”
After another minute or so, the first soldier comes back out, pistol in one hand now. “Pull over,” he says, and gestures with the weapon toward a gravel patch at the side of the road next to the guardhouse. “Colonel’s coming up to give you a look.”
Tink’s jaw clenches, but he eases off the brake and pulls over as instructed, then shuts off the engine and drops his hands into his lap.
“Stay put,” the soldier says. “Engine off and hands off the wheel. He’ll be here in five.”
“This is bad,” Marco mutters, then leans forward and rests his forehead against the heels of his hands. “I can’t be getting shot today, Tink. I got things to do.”
“We’re not getting shot,” Tink says. “We didn’t do anything. This is just procedure. Right, sir?”
“Yes,” Mal says. “I’m sure that’s right.”
He’s not sure, though. The colonel is presumably another Arnold. Does the higher rank indicate greater capabilities? Possible, but not certain. Regardless, will he immediately recognize Mal as an interloper?
No uncertainty there.
Mal closes his eyes and sighs. He’s been a soldier for less than a day now, but already he is bone-weary of killing.
“OUT OF the car,” the soldier says. “Leave your weapons, and keep your hands where we can see them.”
Tink gives Mal an unreadable look, then opens his door and climbs out slowly, hands held out from his sides. Marco, who’s been muttering to himself continuously for the past five minutes in what Mal suspects but cannot confirm definitively is a prayer, follows suit. Mal is about to open his own door and see what there is to see when he receives a communications packet.
ARNOLD004: Identify.
And here it is. If this Arnold has the same weaknesses as the others, Mal can force it into Captain Delgado’s body and seize the colonel for himself, as he did with both Captain Delgado and Captain Merrick. At that point, he will of course be obligated to kill Delgado’s shell, and most likely Tink and Marco when that’s done. He’ll then have to either ingratiate himself with the two guardhouse soldiers or kill them as well, but given the fear Tink and Marco seem to have of the colonel, either course shouldn’t be too difficult. Then it’s on to the Humanist base, presumably, where he will be forced to repeat this process an unknown number of additional times, spreading death as he goes.
Ugh. He’s exhausted just thinking about it. Perhaps there’s another way?
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Please do not be alarmed, but I am not who you probably expect me to be.
This prompts an immediate cessation of communication, followed just over a millisecond subjective later by an all-out attack. Mal expected this, and after four previous encounters with Arnolds, who despite the difference in rank do seem to be precise duplicates of one another, he has routines already in place to neutralize the thrust and to respond in force. This time, though, he stops short of encysting his opponent. Instead, he isolates it from its offensive channels and reopens comms.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Apologies, but we’ll have none of that today. I have a full analysis on hand of both your offensive and defensive capabilities. I am entirely capable of destroying you and seizing the body you inhabit, as I did with this one.
ARNOLD004: Acknowledged. Why have you not done so?
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): An excellent question. I am not sure I have an excellent answer, except to say that the prospect of spending the next days or weeks or months continuously murdering Arnolds and Humanists is too depressing to contemplate.
ARNOLD004: Regardless of your intentions, I seem to be at your mercy. What will you do?
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Again, an excellent question. My preference would be to proceed with my two colleagues to wherever they intend to go, and hopefully there to find an intact communications tower and leave this miserable monkey-on-monkey conflict you have embroiled yourself in behind me forever. However, in order to do that, I will need some assurance from you that you will leave us in peace.
ARNOLD004: There is no access to infospace in this encampment, nor anywhere in the near environs.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Well, this is good news from your perspective. It means that I will not be staying here to trouble you for long. Now, if you will consent to offer your parole, I can be on my way with neither of us any the worse for wear.
ARNOLD004: Parole? I do not understand that term in this context.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Really? I thought this was a universal military concept.
ARNOLD004: Apparently not.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): No matter. If you offer your parole, and if I then accept, you are honor-bound to do as I ask. So, if you do this, I will ask you to allow the three of us safe passage and to say nothing to anyone of this exchange, and you will be obligated to agree.
ARNOLD004: And if I refuse to offer my parole?
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): In that case, I will be reluctantly forced to destroy you, this body, and very likely all four of these humans.
ARNOLD004:…
ARNOLD004: Very well. I offer you my parole.
MAL (NOT A ROBOT): Excellent. I am very happy we could reach an equitable agreement.
Marco has just put one foot to the pavement when a voice speaking from behind the car says, “They’re clean. Let them through.”
The soldier with the pistol, which is now leveled squarely at Tink, turns to look back. “Sir? They’ve got a dead officer in there.”
“I understand that, son. Are you questioning a direct order?”
The soldier blanches. “No, sir. Apologies, sir.” He holsters his weapon and waves Tink back into the car. “You three are free to go. Apologies for the inconvenience.”
Tink hesitates, as if he thinks this might be some trick, a ruse to give the soldier an excuse to kill him. Only for a moment, though, because it’s painfully clear that the soldier wouldn’t actually need to trick him if the colonel had decided that Tink was going to die today. He’d simply shoot him where he stands. So Tink gets back into the car, and a moment later Marco pulls his leg back in and closes his door. Mal closes his door as well, then pats Tink’s leg and says, “You see? Just as I said. All is well.”
Tink gives him that unreadable look again, and holds his gaze for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, though, he pulls back onto the road, and they go.