It was an engagement of final things, this war. All who controlled the marionette strings knew this, on both sides of the conflict. There would be no quarter or compromise. It was as if the collective minds of all the World’s tribes had gathered here to play out the last conflict. It was the crowning piece of destruction that would plunge humankind into darkness, no matter what the outcome of the armies. Every battle that had ever been fought, throughout the long ages of human conflict, had pointed to this final moment, had been but a pale dress rehearsal for what now took place.
The Riken waged a war of attrition, sacrificing large numbers for the gain of territory, until they were at the walls of the Citadel itself. From that point, it was only a matter of time and shrewd technology before entering the fortress and confronting the Guardian.
The time had finally arrived when Guardian would be asked to play its “hole card,” its last-ditch strategy intended to keep the Riken from the Thorium-ore deposits.
Huddled within the pentagonal cells of the Citadel were the remnants of Haagendaz, brimming over in the residential levels like hive insects. Comprised mostly of women and children and the aged, they awaited the outcome of the confrontation.
Its defending forces wiped out, Guardian lay helpless in the depths of the Citadel as the Riken Troops flooded the passageways, exterminating all Citadel personnel, ancillary cybernetic staff members, technicians, cyborgs, even the robots. There was nothing for the Guardian to do but wait.
When at last the moment came, and the Command Chamber was filled with the dark uniforms of the Riken, Guardian activated the final plan. Knowing this, the Riken generals sent their best technicians and scientists into the Chamber in an attempt to break through the maze of scramble codes which would deactivate the Thorium mines. But no amount of probing or persuasion would succeed. The Guardian had been given a Priority-One Command, which could not be countermanded. Since the Riken did not have the sophistication needed to break down the AI and successfully deactivate the destruct code, an impasse was reached. A staff of command officers stood before the consoles of Guardian:
“You risk destruction if you do not cooperate,” said one of the colonels.
I DO NOT FEAR DESTRUCTION. ANY DIRECT PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH MY COMPONENTS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE DETONATION OF THE DEPOSITS. THAT IS YOUR DECISION TO MAKE.
“There is no sense in carrying out this charade!” screamed a general. “Your forces are exterminated. We control everything. There is no alternative but surrender.”
YOU DO NOT CONTROL EVERYTHING. YOU HAVE NO CONTROL OVER THE THORIUM MINES, NOR HAVE YOU ANY REAL CONTROL OVER GUARDIAN.
“Very well,” said the colonel. “We have one possibility still available. Should you still remain opposed to the opening of the mines, we shall exercise it.”
THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO. I AM THE KEY, AND YOU SHALL NOT HAVE THE KEY.
“Perhaps we can persuade you to change your way of thinking,” said another high-ranking officer. In the upper levels of this fortress we have the remnants of Haagendaz—primarily women and children. Estimates of the population are approximately one point two million people, is that correct?”
THAT IS ESSENTIALLY CORRECT.
“What we propose is quite simple, actually,” said the general, smiling, for more than dramatic effect, for it is believed that the Riken derived some kind of cruel pleasure from their atrocities.
YOUR PROPOSALS ARE MEANINGLESS. I AM NOT PREPARED TO ALLOW ACCESS TO THE MINES UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
“We think you are,” said a colonel.
“Yes,” said the smiling general. “If you do not deactivate the mines, we shall exterminate the entire population of survivors. One point two million lives. We shall end them all.”
The Guardian paused for an instant, considering the full meaning of the Riken’s words. It was not something unexpected coming from them; genocide was not unthinkable to them. It was not unthinkable to the Genonese either, and they had prepared Guardian for this terrible possibility: the AI was to remain adamant. Even mass murder on such a monumental scale could not change the rules of the game. And so the Guardian spoke:
THEIR LIVES ARE OF NO CONSEQUENCE. YOU SHALL NOT CONTROL THE MINES.
The general stopped smiling, angered now by the utter intractability of the Guardian. “But you must give in! The lives of those millions will lie on your head! We will kill them, don’t you hear me!? We will kill them all! Kill . . . them . . . all!”
A long silence filled the chamber. Something was wrong within the mind of the AI. The concept of being responsible for so many deaths had somehow affected the Guardian. There was an instant of confusion, of what might be called doubt. The AI contemplated the rightness of its command, the ethics of the decision being forced upon it.
But the Guardian had no real choice.
NOTHING YOU CAN DO WILL CHANGE THE FACTS. THE MINES ARE ACTIVATED AND THEY WILL REMAIN SO.
The general’s anger appeared to subside and his features became as rigid as stone. “Very well, Guardian. What follows is your responsibility. May you never forget what you shall now see!”
And the Guardian did not forget.
In the desire that the AI might reconsider, the genocide of Haagendaz was performed slowly and methodically, hoping that each death would weaken its determination.
But this did not happen, and the Guardian remained resolute in its initial command. After an interminable time, the executions were completed and the AI burned with memories of the broken, charred corpses, stamping its core with an indelible seal—a seal of darkness, crowned by the Death’s Head.
Driven by desperation, the Riken attempted to dismantle the mine system, the Guardian itself, and finally forced entry into the Thorium mines, which resulted in detonations that irrevocably sealed the vast passageways. It would take a lifetime to reopen the mines—time not available to the logistically isolated Strike Force.
Soon afterward, the Northern Conflict was resolved in favor of the Genonese
