This is my first field trip and our mission is clear: To secure the underground area next to the university. There has been disturbance inside the dungeon of tunnels made of steel, as reported. The robots do not normally venture so close into our civilization. We wonder what prompts the encroachment. Low in resource within the robot colonies? The evolution of robots that finally breach the take no interest in human activity vow as programmed, sealed, and agreed upon after the Third War? Or robots that have gone rogue?
I have to admit that I am born of a younger generation, owe it to our forefathers for the establishment of peace, a form of peace that is not perfect – as coexisting with your century long enemies is never easy – but necessary. Towards the end of the Third War, both sides acknowledged that we human beings cannot outpace the evolution of robots aided by technology rapidly discovered, experimented, and advanced minutes by minutes, seconds by seconds; and robots cannot precede the wisdom of mankind granted by the gods of heaven. Our bones may be fragile, our flesh may be mortal, but there is no survival like a human survival.
At least that is how we are taught in school; my textbook understanding on the robots, on the history before I was born. I have not seen a robot in my life, least terminating one. The word ‘kill’ has been banned and eliminated from our dictionary as part of the agreement of the Third War Treaty. As the robots have acutely observed, the root of our evilness lies in the word “kill”. Kill: Such a word full of hatred, of superiority, and of no responsibility, no respect. Terminate, on the other hand, has a clinical approach to address a certain dire situation, through sound logic and rationalization.
As I have said, this is my first field trip, in a squad of soldiers who seem to know what they are doing. “You!” says the squad leader pointing at my direction. “Sir?” I straighten my back in response. “Stay close and shoot at the damn robots, not us. Got it? We’re going to kill all those damn motherfookers!” shouts the leader in his hoarse commanding voice.
Kill?! Guess I have to toss the textbooks away for now, side-by-side with this troop of dozen.
“Here. Take these,” one soldier beside me hands me some ammunition. “These are rockets. Launch them from a distance. You don’t wanna see them explode in front of our faces. Got that, kiddo?” he continues. “Yes Sir!” I replies as I strapped the little red rockets onto my belt, with my trembling hands. “And these are regular bullets. For close range shooting. You have learned how to fire at the training center, haven’t you?” I nod, weakly. He puts his strong hand onto my left shoulder and says, “Look kiddo, this is real war. I don’t know your background. But since you are here, you must have done damn good in your training. Don’t let us down, OK?”
Such a fatherly voice, I reply with renewed conviction, “Sir! Yes Sir!”
“Something is moving ahead Sir!” one squad member shouts. The squad leader turns to me and says, “You kiddo. Do the announcement now!”
In my state of nervousness, I have gone stiffed, my mind has gone blank. The soldier next to me shouts, “Do it now kiddo! We can’t attack those motherfookers before we make the announcement!”
I slap into action, grab the microphone, clear my throat and say, “Attention. This is a human designated area. You are in violation of the Third War Treaty that says no robots are allowed to encroach into human designated areas, physically or in any capacity that may interact or harm the human species …”
“They are fast approach, Sir!” one soldier screams. “Get ready to fire!” shouts the squad leader.
And my mechanical voice continues, echoes in these long steel tunnels, “We hereby inform you to immediately leave this area. Failing to do so may grant us, the humans, the right to terminate you …”
I hear gunfire. So loud that I have to cover my ears. I see two dead robots right in front of us as I continue, “We come in peace and wish you robots no harm.”
How ironic.
“These robots come in pairs, kiddo. If you kill one, you have to kill the other,” said one soldier. “What if we don’t?” ask I. “Well, these robots are programmed to live and die in pairs. Think kamikaze, kiddo. Not pretty,” he shakes his head engaged in what appears as a deep thought. I make a mental note to inquire the story after our mission.
“There are a lot more coming!” says the same soldier who warned us the incoming of robots. “Shoot ’em all!” shouts the squad leader, “And you kiddo!” He turns to me, “Make yourself useful and use that damn gun of yours, would you?”
Indeed, a lot more targets are coming our way. Relentless, waves and waves of robots come upon us. The sound of the gunfire is deafening; the sparkle of the explosion hurts my eyes. One target is marked for my taking. From a distance, I launch rocket #1. Missed. Rocket #2. Missed! Such tremendous speed these robots have! As my target gets closer to me, I attempt to launch rocket #3. My gun screams in a mechanical voice, “Warning! Warning! Incoming target too close!” I fire nonetheless. Big explosion, the ground shakes. The rocket has punched a big hole onto the steel tunnel just meters away from us. The squad leader shouts, “Dammit kiddo! Wanna get us all killed?!”
My target slows down, by the up close explosion of the rocket. I switch to pistol, attempt to shoot the robot. Futile. For I am merely putting dents onto his thick armor. There is something peculiar about this robot. In my state of desperation, thinking of not wanting to get my squad killed, I do the unthinkable: I charge towards the robot!
My squad seems shocked. The robot seems shocked. Every one stops what they are doing and watch what could have been the most lunatic scene of the century as recorded.
Adrenalized, with heighten alert. As I am approaching an arm’s length away from my target, I toss my pistol away, and the puzzlement has deepened. “What are you thinking?!” the robot must have pondered. As it too stays still, a step or two away from the huge hole that my rocket #3 has created not so long ago.
With all my remaining strength, I run up to the robot – what enormous figure! – and give it a big push, into the hole. The hole is no ordinary hole. It is a lift shaft. I pull the level nearby to call a lift to come down. Almost like a slow motion, the lift crushes onto the fallen robot and renders it inactive. All of a sudden, it is silence. The heavy breathing of the human squad and the electrostatic sparkles of the fallen robot fills the silence bestows upon the aftermath of the last wave of attack.
“Just what the ‘uck are you thinking, kiddo?” our squad leader mutters the words slowly while staring at the fallen robot. My face has gone red and I reply, “Erm, Sir. I did what I have to do. I have disengaged the robot.”
“Ah, disengaged,” he looks up at the ceiling disengaged from the current scene and continues, “So this robot is neither alive nor dead. What the ‘uck are we supposed to do with a robot in coma?”
“Sir,” one soldier steps up and offers an answer, “We are not allowed to harm or interact or harvest any such robot. In fact, we must retreat from this perimeter immediately and notify the Federation.”
“Good. And how are we supposed to secure this perimeter, as part of our mission?”
“The Law says, no mission supersede this situation of ours as it is a grave threat to humanity, unless humanity is in threat,” the soldier continues. Another soldier steps up, clenching his fists in anger and says, “Sir. I say we blow this motherfooker apart and continue with our mission.” Some of the soldiers join force, fists in the air, and yell, “Let’s blow this motherfooker apart!”
“NO!” the squad leader quiet the crowd with his calm voice. “There are certain values in life we must not compromise. This robot in coma is not to be harmed. Mission abort!”
“But what would happen to this robot in coma?” I ask, in all ignorance. The squad leader shrugs and says, “Maybe its another half will claim it for mutual voluntary termination. Maybe the robots will use it to claim ownership to this underground structure. How the ‘uck would I know? I don’t study robots for a living. I kill ’em to pay my bills, kiddo.”
The squad leader’s long sigh meets with a faint drumming sound from a distance. The noise amplifies as we standstill, trying to figure out what is next. “Sir! Take a look at the radar,” shouts one soldier in disbelief. “They are in great number, a scale I have never seen before!”
“Move, move! Retreat! Now! You and you, hold the line with me. The rest of you. Run like hell!” commands the squad leader.
We run like mad, fueled by the great number of robots chasing after us. Have I started the Fourth War? I dare not even think about it. As I emerge from the underground compound, greeted by dusk, the siren has been sounded. For how long? I do not know. I see shadow of some students from the university dashing in the dark. I look back at the exit, half expecting to see robots making an entry into our human dwelling, a formal invasion. Instead, I see animals and birds, coming out from the same exit we emerged. And they too are engulfed by the dusk, disappeared into the dark.
* * * * *
Author’s Note: I am always thrilled when it comes to writing the “Fragments of my Dreams” series. I love being able to let my imagination runs wild, guided only by the [real] dreams I have. Sunday morning (Nov 8, 2009), I woke up early, vividly remembered I had a dream. But the content was vague. I fell back to sleep and revisited my dreamland again, willing the dream to be repeated. And incredible as it sounds, the dream did repeat again, like a movie. In fact, it ended inside a movie theater. I picked the most coherent part of my dream to be the inspiration of this episode.
