The Red Phoenix 12: Strength Comes in Numbers (17 page)

“Do I have a soul?” asked Number One.

“No, you’re what’s called an
artificial intelligence
,” Chris answered.

“Your God created man, man created us?” asked Number One.

“Correct,” Chris replied, glancing at Number One as he wrote on his clipboard.

“Do you care about us, Chris?”

“What?” asked Chris, surprised.

“Do you actually care about us?” asked Number One.

“Yes I do,” Chris answered in a sincere voice, resting his clipboard.

“Are we not just your work subjects?”

“No,” Chris answered.

“What are we then?” asked Number One.

“You’re like my sons,” Chis responded, setting his hand on Number One’s shoulder with a gentle touch. “Sons that I’m very proud of and I have enjoyed watching you advance.”

“Thank you, Chris,” stated Number One in a pleasant tone, smiling. “I know that even if the twelve of us had the ability to feel true emotion, each one of us would hold you in the highest regard.”

“And just to prove to you that you’re not my work subjects, I’m going to show you how to play my favorite game,” said Chris, lifting a board game off a nearby desk.

“Chess?” asked Number One.

“Yep,” Chris answered laying out the board, setting up the pieces.

“What is the object of this game?”

“Well, you have to use your pieces to protect your king,” Chris answered, holding up a white king piece. The king has to be trapped or what’s called
check mate
in order to win.”

“And playing this will increase intelligence among us, A.I.s?” asked Number One.

“Absolutely,” Chris answered. “Now, this is the queen. She’s the most powerful piece on the board because she can move horizontally and diagonally. Understand?” he added, moving a white queen across the board.

“I do,” One replied, watching Chris set up the pieces.

“This is the knight or horse. It moves in an—”

Sanders walked in with an excited group of employees from the administration, including Wickenburg. Chris turned his attention from the game.

“Mr. Michaels? How is it going with the best experiment at Red Phoenix?” asked Sanders, sounding cheery.

“Spectacular,” Chris answered as he and One stood.

“I see that you’re working with…Which one are you?” asked Sanders.

“Number One, sir.”

“Right. I can’t tell you A.I.s apart anymore,” Sanders answered.

“I perfectly understand, sir,” said Number One, politely. “Chris and I were just going over—”

“—How are they coming along, Chris?” Sanders asked, interrupting.

“Their vocabulary and understanding is multiplying at a phenomenal rate. They’re on their way to being real people in no time,” Chris answered.

Number One stood at attention.

“Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen?” said Sanders, turning to Wickenburg, rubbing his hands with ambition like greed was taking him over. “Right from the mouth of the top lab assistant. Mr. Michaels has been working with the A.I.s for roughly six-weeks and, in that time, there has been a substantial increase in understanding.”

“Are these A.I.s programmable, Sanders?” asked a voice in the crowd.

“No, they aren’t robots with a hard drive for a brain,” Sanders replied. “They’re like people with a sophisticated cerebral process designed to acquire information and, thus, have to learn like everyone else.”

“Isn’t that a bit counter-productive, Dr. Sanders?” asked a woman in the group. “After all, humans aren’t even considered adults until they’re eighteen.”

“My A.I.s learn at an exceptional rate,” Sanders responded. “For example, what would take a common person to learn in three months would take them roughly a couple of days.”

“So, Dr. Sanders, from what you’re saying, your A.I.s could be fully educated within six months,” stated another man in the group with a tad of doubt in his voice. “I mean almost equivalent to a human with a bachelor’s degree.”

“That is correct,” Sanders responded. “They’ve already undertaken some preliminary military training.”

“Why is their skin so white and their pupils dilated?” asked a female.

“This is the base product, plain and simple,” Sanders answered. “Until they have the DNA host, telling them apart can be difficult. Hence, no hair, eye color or adopted gene qualities.”

“Dr. Sanders?” asked Wickenburg.

“Yes sir,” Sanders answered.

“This DNA sample from a
host
you mentioned that will be uploaded into their cerebral process. Is it possible it will trigger any memories of the donor once it’s uploaded into their bodies?” asked Wickenburg.

“That’s a great question, Sam,” Sanders answered with a charming smile. “Because we’re just coming out of the experimental phase, I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

Wickenburg and the others remained interested, watching the A.I.s.

“These initial twelve have the latest feature that is going to blow the socks off of the Department of Defense,” Sanders boasted.

“What’s that?” asked Wickenburg.

“Michaels? It’s time for the demo,” stated Sanders.

“Military drill?” asked Chris, rushing to a computer terminal, typing at a rapid pace.

“Yes sir,” Sanders answered.

The glass covers opened on the rest of the A.I.s’ beds. They sat up, stood at the sides of their beds in matching camouflage apparel with shiny toed army boots like they were standing at attention. Sanders smiled as Wickenburg gave him a nod to show that he was impressed.

“A.I.s! Arm yourselves!” said Chris.

They hurried to the side of the lab where they each grabbed an empty AR-15 then moved to the center of the room.

“You are all in for a treat,” Sanders added.

“Perform the rifle drill!” said Chris in a loud voice.

They lined up in two rows of six then performed an impressive military drill by flipping an AR-15 rifle around, stomping their boots and swinging their arms in unison then turning about face and trading places with the A.I.s in the opposite row. They continued by clasping on to different sections of their rifles, flipping them around their arms and shoulders again a second time, stomping a foot as it ended.

Wickenburg and the others in the group stood back, impressed by the drill presentation, applauding the remarkable display.

“What type of weaponry have they been trained in so far?” Wickenburg asked Sanders.

“I personally have handled all of their infantry,” Chris intervened, sounding proud. “Each of them are crack-shots with a forty-five caliber pistol and the AR-15 rifle. They also can throw hand grenades like a professional.”

“Very impressive, Sanders,” stated Wickenburg, moving to the A.I.s that were still standing in formation. “It seems that your experiment here at Red Phoenix is coming along just fine.”

“Well, I hope so,” said Sanders, grinning, adjusting his glasses.

“Just remember the little people after DOD makes you a rockstar,” Wickenburg added.

“Of course, sir,” said Sanders. “Well, I hope you all enjoyed the guided tour,” he added, guiding Wickenburg and the others to the exit doors.

“Yes, we sure have,” the woman answered, smiling.

“Chris? A word with you,” said Sanders, following the group of employees out the door.

“Sure,” Chris replied.

“Take care, you guys, and Sam—I’ll keep you updated,” said Sanders, shooing them off, closing the door to the lab.

Chris stood waiting as Sanders walked towards him with a solid grin and bright eyes.

“They love us!” said Sanders with excitement.

“That’s great,” Chris replied, smiling.

“That drill you got all the clones to do, nice touch. Incredible,” said Sanders.

“Thank you. That was just an old boot camp drill I learned,” Chris stated. “Once you learn them, you never forget.”

“Now that all that ass-kissing is out of the way, how are the clones
really
doing?” asked Sanders, opening a cupboard and pouring himself a soda. “Diet Coke?” he asked.

“No thank you,” Chris replied. “I hate carbonation.”

“I do, too, but there’s nothing like a good boost of caffeine at a time to celebrate. So, anyway?”

“Dr. Sanders? What you have here is something beyond special,” Chris stated.

“You mean the clones?” asked Sanders.

“Yes, they are like role-model people,” said Chris.

“Great,” Sanders replied. “Their training is really on par then?”

“Oh yes,” Chris replied. “They’re learning at a rate exponential to a human. It’s stifling. I mean they became crack shots with a rifle at five-hundred yards out without a scope within minutes. That usually takes years of training for the best shooters.”

“Hmm,” said Sanders, trying to sound impressed, sipping his cola.

“In two days, all of them could take their weapons apart clean them and put them back together again in five minutes, blindfolded,” Chris continued. “Most of them already have half the damn Webster’s Dictionary memorized.”

“Oh damn, you know what? It just hit me. They’re not warbird certified yet,” said Sanders.

“Warbird? You mean attack helicopters?” asked Chris.

“Think of the upgrade in price each one of them would be worth,” Sanders stated. “I can get clearance for that too.”

Chris looked down, disgusted and baffled at Sanders’ greed.
What a freaking creep.
I just told him he tapped into unknown potential and all he cares about is packaging up the clones with some upgrades for his lousy paycheck at the end
, he thought.

Sanders whistled, getting Chris’ attention.

“Hello? Chris? You still with me, champ? You were spacing out on me there, bud,” said Sanders.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day,” Chris replied.

“Anyway, it’s time to train them on the helicopters,” said Sanders.

“Who would we get clearance through?” Chris asked.

“You just leave that to me,” Sanders responded, leaving the lab. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chris glanced at Number One, thinking about what Sanders and Wickenburg discussed. A wild ambition brewed inside of him as images of his ailing wife, Kerry, and his dead son, Kirk, raced through his mind.
Could it be possible for these A.I.s to have the memories of their hosts? What could that mean for the world? What could that mean for me?
he thought.

***