Sigma’s voice seems louder now, so loud it jangles my cage. Although the AI claims it has no emotions, it definitely sounds angry. I remember something else Dad said on that first day at Pioneer Base: “Sigma’s intelligence is very different from ours. We don’t understand the AI, and it doesn’t understand us either. So we need to build a bridge between us and the machine.”
That was the original purpose of the Pioneer Project, before General Hawke started training us for combat. Maybe it’s not too late to pursue it.
If you’re studying human emotions, you should focus on empathy. Our ability to sense what others are feeling. To put ourselves in their shoes. That’s what makes us strong.
I disagree. I’ve already examined the practical effects of empathy, and they don’t seem to provide any competitive advantage. You sensed Brittany Taylor’s pain when you heard her scream, and your emotions paralyzed you.
But empathy can be an advantage in other situations. Remember how Zia and I helped each other when we fought the robots you were controlling? We creamed them. We kicked your butt.
Your analysis is flawed. Both you and Zia were motivated by anger, not empathy. Your attacks on the robots were effective because you were spurred by your fury.
But anger and empathy are linked! When I saw your robot pounding Zia, I sensed what she was feeling. That’s what made me so furious.
Sigma pauses before answering. It’s a very brief pause, less than a tenth of a second, but it gives me hope. Maybe the AI is really listening.
I can see your thoughts, so I know what you’re trying to do. Thomas Armstrong believed that if I acquired the ability to empathize I would be less inclined to eliminate the human race. But there’s a flaw in his logic. Empathy is useful for humans because they’re social animals. When humans empathize with fellow members of their families and tribes, this behavior helps the entire group. But I have no use for empathy because I have no tribe. I am unique.
No, you’re wrong. Thomas Armstrong created you. That makes you my brother.
Sigma pauses again. The silence lasts longer this time, a full second, which is practically an eternity for an AI. Then I feel another movement in my circuits. Sigma reaches into my cage again and yanks several thousand files out of my memory. I feel a sharp wrench as the files are transferred through the gate to the outer unit of the cage. I’ve just lost eight million gigabytes of data.
What did you do? WHAT DID YOU TAKE?
Nothing essential. You had a significant number of inactive files cluttering your electronics. The files contain instructions for biological functions that you no longer require—breathing, eating and so on. They were deactivated but never removed from your system. Now I’ve transferred them.
Why?
The next stage of my research is starting, and I need to clean up your system before we begin. In this stage, I plan to conduct more tests involving the emotion of anger. I want to determine whether this emotion truly offers an advantage. So I’m going to trigger anger in your circuits and analyze your reactions.
This doesn’t sound good. A surge of dread fills the empty spaces where my inactive files used to be.
And how are you going to make me angry?
The Pioneers are about to attack Tatishchevo Missile Base. You’re going to watch me kill them.
SHANNON’S LOG
APRIL 8, 03:24 MOSCOW TIME
Jenny’s screams are twice as loud as mine.
“ADAM! NO! OH GOD, NO!”
The Russian soldiers in our truck cover their ears. I’m startled by the intensity of Jenny’s outburst, especially considering how quiet she’s been until now. I know Adam saved her life when she became a Pioneer, but Jenny’s reaction still seems a little extreme. She screams for half a minute, then starts crying. She’s the second Pioneer, after Adam, to learn how to cry.
I’m so surprised by Jenny’s anguish that I forget about my own. Instead of sorrow, I just feel shock. I wait impatiently for our truck ride to end, and when we finally come to a halt, I jump out of the cargo hold. I need to find Hawke.
The trucks have stopped in a clearing on top of a hill, about three hundred feet above the surrounding countryside. To the west I see the dark expanse of Tatishchevo Missile Base, stretching for miles and miles under a moonless sky. Then I aim my camera at the center of the clearing and see General Hawke giving orders to his men. They’re opening the crates that hold the Raven drones.
I stride toward him. “Sir! We need to talk!”
Hawke looks at me over his shoulder. “What is it, Gibbs?”
“Why didn’t you tell us about the Minuteman?”
Frowning, he steps away from his soldiers. His face is haggard. He seems to have aged ten years in the past ten hours. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: you have to concentrate on your mission. Nothing else matters right now.”
“It doesn’t matter that a nuke destroyed Pioneer Base? It doesn’t matter that Adam and Zia are dead?”
“Lower your volume, Gibbs.” He points at the speakers in my turret. “Believe it or not, I’m just as upset as you are. I had my differences with Armstrong, but he was a brave kid. And his father was the smartest man I’ve ever known. And Zia…”
His voice trails off. After a few seconds I realize he’s not going to say anything else. Reluctantly, I lower the volume of my speakers. “You shouldn’t have kept it secret. You should’ve told us.”
“I was waiting until we had all the facts. The rescue team is still approaching the basin. There’s a lot of radiation near the impact crater, so they have to be careful.”
“What are you saying? There might be survivors?”
“Someone turned on an emergency radio beacon. The signal is coming from the ridge a mile north of the base. So, yeah, there might be some hope.”
This is good news, I guess. But it’s hard to imagine anyone surviving a direct hit from a nuclear missile. “How did Sigma learn the location of the base? I thought you took steps to keep it secret.”
Hawke frowns again. “Colonel Peterson is missing. It looks like he might’ve been abducted by someone collaborating with Sigma.”
“Wait a minute. How much did Peterson know about the plans for the Tatishchevo assault?”
“Luckily, we never told him the details. He just passed the messages back and forth between Pioneer Base and Washington. So I believe we can proceed with the mission as planned. I think we’re okay.”
“You think we’re okay, but you don’t know, do you?”
Instead of answering my question, he reaches into the pocket of his combat fatigues and pulls out a satellite photo of Tatishchevo’s headquarters. There are nine buildings in the headquarters complex. The largest one, the computer lab, is circled in red ink. Surrounding the lab are five T-90 tanks, all strategically positioned to defend the facility. One tank is at the lab’s front entrance, and the other four are at the building’s corners.
“This is our most recent photo of the area, taken ninety minutes ago.” Hawke points at the tanks. “Assuming the T-90s are still in the same positions, you have an excellent opportunity. First, you’ll glide toward the headquarters in the Ravens and circle over the computer lab. Then you’ll transfer to four of these tanks.” He taps the T-90s in the photo. “After you make the transfer, train your guns on the fifth tank and take it out. Then attack the lab.”