Cyborgs: More Than Machines

VOLUME 1: C791 Prologue "Terminate them." "Sir?" The corporal seemed taken aback at the brusque tone in the captain's voice, or was it the callously thrown mandate that disturbed him? "Surely you can't mean-" "Is there a problem with your hearing, corporal? Or have you suddenly decided you outrank me and can question my authority?" snapped the commanding officer. "Of course not, sir." "Then remember your place, soldier. The general's orders came through just a short while ago. We are to permanently deactivate all the cyborgs on board, effective immediately. And as you should know by now, the only sure way to deactivate a cyborg is to terminate it." The young soldier swallowed, his face blanching at his superior's command. "I don't understand, sir." "Understanding isn't part of your job description, soldier. Just do as you are told. Don't tell me you give a rat's ass about these things? Because that is all they are, corporal, things. Objects. Robots, even if you will, built to serve us. Do not let their humanoid exterior fool you into thinking otherwise." "Y-yes, sir. Forgive my lapse. How are we to dispose of them though, sir? There are over a hundred of them on the ship, and we don't have enough caskets for them all." The captain blew out a snorting laugh that lacked humor. "We aren't wasting resources on useless objects. They're machines, corporal, not people, and as such, they won't require a burial. I'll send out a general announcement demanding that the cyborgs not already here are to gather in this bay and place themselves in standby mode. Once they're all present, I want you to order them into the airlock and vacuum them out." "Yes, sir," was the corporal's subdued reply. While the subordinate might not like the directive, he would obey it. It was how things worked in the military, an organization about to commit g******e because, while cyborgs might possess enhanced abilities, along with mechanical parts and computer chips - they'd begun their lives as humans. Analyzing the conversation further proved pointless. There was no misunderstanding the command. Unit X109GI, ordered into standby mode after his last sixteen-hour work shift, heard it loud and clear. But he wasn't supposed to. Nor should he have possessed the ability to care or ponder the unfairness of the decree. Cyborgs were machines. Robots, like the captain said. Tools for human use. They might have started as flawed or damaged humans, but science and technology changed them. Changed them and stole their memories - along with their humanity - to make them into something the government could use to fight its battles, an almost indestructible army that could explore dangerous new worlds or force militant order on an overgrown population chafing for freedom. Most of all, cyborgs were expendable, in human eyes at least. X109GI thought otherwise, which, in and of itself, was an anomaly his internal processor couldn't resolve. Cyborgs weren't designed to think. Their very programming prevented it. Their only will was supposed to be that of the human voices that gave them audible orders or the wireless commands transmitted to their neural nets. What his superiors didn't know was since the EMP pulses on Gamma 15, five of them if his memory units weren't faulty, some of his embedded computer controls no longer reacted to the imprinted human override. In other words, he controlled himself. He lived. Protocol demanded he report the defect in his circuitry. His cognizance decided otherwise. Cyborgs with faulty wiring didn't survive long, and X109GI discovered after his mishap he very much wanted to live. And now, with the captain's stern command, he also realized he desired freedom, perhaps even a tad bit of revenge for the cold dismissal and callous treatment of those who shared his origins. But he couldn't accomplish that alone. One flawed machine against the dozens of armed humans on board didn't stand a chance. However... In the midst of the cyborg ranks, column upon column and numerous rows deep, aid stood waiting, frozen by the humans, unknowing of their fate. My mechanical brothers. Could he somehow override the programming that prevented them from waking and becoming their own masters? Could he save himself and the other units he served with? Do he dare? The captain left and the corporal muttered to himself about the assholes in charge. However, his traitorous diatribe against those higher than him in the command chain didn't stop him from tapping in the directive that wirelessly ordered all the cyborgs to the docking bay. It didn't stop the human from transmitting what amounted to a death sentence with the simple push of some buttons. With the corporal busy, X109GI allowed himself to look around, his eyes tracking the location of the other cyborgs and cataloguing the equipment in the room, calculating how he could use it to his advantage. To his surprise - an emotion that startled him with its newness - another pair of cyborg eyes, those of unit Y999SK, met his. Despite their inability to communicate aloud, lest they draw attention, the other male relayed a simple plan through a nod of his head and a flick of his hand. Even better, X109GI had discovered an ally. Another woken entity like myself. Was it possible all of the units could achieve sentience? Is this why the humans would destroy us? The doors leading to the bay area slid open and the steady cadence of marching boots echoed in the vast space. The few remaining units on board entered the room and took their place in the ranks. Utter silence descended as the new arrivals adopted the standby position - hands behind their back, legs spread, their visual cortexes shut down. "Cyborgs, attention!" The corporal barked the command and got an instant reaction from the units. Out of habit and a need for continued subterfuge, X109GI clacked his boots together and dropped his arms to the side. The echo of a hundred others doing the same resounded like a thunderclap in the cavernous room. "About face. Forward march." The corporal's reedy voice held only the slightest tremor as he directed them toward the bay doors. The thump of booted feet, marching past the landers on the metal grid floor, taunted X109GI as his internal computer warred with the newly discovered man within over the right thing to do. Ingrained habit and stray remnants of his programming dictated he follow orders while his emerging sentience demanded he act. But what should I do? Time grew shorter with each step they took, and X109GI fought furiously for a wireless way to interact with his brothers, but while he could communicate with the human computers and the networks open to him, the wireless minds of his fellow cyborgs remained forbidden, just as the humans designed them. He registered the sound of the corporal leaving the docking bay, the slam of the door and the pressurizing hiss, the damning evidence that he fled to safety. A whirring squeal of mechanisms in motion preceded the groaning of the outer doors slowly opening. Only the electromagnetic shield protected him and the others from the cold, airlessness of space. "We need to do something." The hissed words from his left made him stop and stare at unit Y999SK. Shock filled him that Y999SK would dare to break rank and speak. Around them, the other cyborgs, their faces blank, kept moving. Moistening his lips, X109GI spoke for the first time aloud, without a human commanding him - and it felt great. "I cannot contact the units. I have been trying with my wireless transmitter, however, their neural nets are blocked from me." As if they shared one mind, both their heads swiveled to the control desk where the corporal recently sat, typing out his deadly commands. Without another word, they raced to the console, X109GI reaching it first and sliding in the seat. His fingers flew over the buttons, faster than any human could have managed, only to find it disabled, the screen flashing an ominous Access Denied. Slamming a fist onto the console, a fiery, new emotion imbued him. Rage. How dare the humans think to terminate them? How dare they think to control them? We were once human too. A cracking sound made him swivel in his seat to see Y999SK punching at the porthole window of the docking bay door. The eyes of the frightened corporal peered at them, and while he couldn't hear what the rapidly moving lips said, X109GI could well imagine. With little time left, and no plan his neural chip could devise, X109GI did the only thing he could think of, a completely illogical yet simple act usually restricted by their programming. But, his programming was faulty. "Cyborgs, halt." He shouted the directive, and the marching units stopped. His kind were designed to listen to humans, and it seemed their creators had forgotten one thing. Cyborgs, amidst all the microchips and metal and nanotechnology, were once human too. And without the directive preventing them from speaking to each other, their human voice worked as well as any other it appeared. How surprising and shortsighted of the humans. "What did you do?" whispered Y999SK, who stopped his pummeling of the glass to return to his side. "We are not programmed to give orders." X109GI did something very human in that moment. He shrugged. "I am defective." Not wanting to waste time, he took advantage of the situation. "Cyborgs, open access to network gateway..." X109GI rattled off the digits to his neural pathway just as the intercom system in the bay crackled to life. Too late. In the brief nanosecond before the captain began shouting, X109GI sent a mandate of his own, a new programming subroutine that overrode the human one, not permanently, but a quick fix that would allow his machine brothers free choice - and a chance at survival. While the captain bellowed over the static-filled speakers, the outer doors finished opening, and the chill of space filled every crevice. But X109GI knew how to regulate his body and didn't care about the plummeting temperature. Nor did he care that the created void sucked at their heavy bodies, bodies with magnetic properties that allowed them to keep their feet adhered to the metal deck, a practical feature for when they needed to go places where gravity didn't follow. As for the screamed directive to march their metal asses out into space? In the words of the mechanic who'd repaired his arm, "Like fuck." He didn't speak his next command aloud. Why bother? He and all the other cyborgs in the room were now connected at a neural level. And it proved so easy to give his next wireless order. "Cyborgs, form squads of four and break off into flanks. New mission - control the ship and subdue the opposition." In other words, kill the humans who would stand in their way. Fight back against those who would destroy them. Become, once again, the men we used to be - even if mechanically enhanced. Against their superior bodies and abilities, the humans didn't stand a chance, although the mutinying cyborg slaves didn't emerge unscathed. But, despite the blood and death, they won and took control of the spacecraft - and their lives. And thus did the liberation of the cyborgs begin.