He rolled his chair around and stood out of respect for the prime minister. “I won’t know until the programming’s done, and they’ve been tested. But I have a good feeling about them.”
“Today was your son’s matching ceremony, wasn’t it?” LeCun entered the office, glancing at stark white walls, gray floor tiles, and an impressive board of circuits, lights, and buttons. “Are you certain you approve of that woman as a wife for him?”
“She’ll work out fine,” he answered with assurance. “I paid her enough. Krystal has foresight and ambition, and she’s a wizard with people. She observes, predicts, and persuades, and would make an excellent addition to our propaganda ministry. Yet she lacks the family name and prestige to advance on her own. As a Delacroix, that hindrance disappears.”
Adélard didn’t mention the part about her preferring women or that she’d be more than happy to strike a discreet, open arrangement with Soren. As for the Oracle using imperial data to match couples? Sure, that’s how it normally went. But he was in charge of data harmonization, perfectly situated to fudge numbers and tweak results. Who would know?
LeCun nodded. “We’ll see how she progresses. Minister Zhou has been asking for more talent to maintain the Cult’s control.” He gestured toward the control panel. “How much autonomy will you give them?”
“We want them to move, select and engage assigned targets, and execute simple binary decisions,” he said. “Not autonomous thinking—only directed autonomy. I’ll initialize actuators, pathfinding, kinematic routines, and the stability-control algorithms. Human operators will issue mission waypoints and target assignments.”
“You’ll include diagnostics and failsafe subroutines?”
“Certainly. My prime consideration is that the robots will be our tools, incapable of usurping human authority and becoming our masters.”
“This is our greatest achievement,” declared LeCun. “Even before the Great Correction, no project this ambitious was ever accomplished.”
“The Book of Doctrine predicted this: From chaos comes order; from order comes life. We endured chaos, brought forth order with the Core’s help. Now we protect life by sending machines to fight in our place. I believe the founders would be proud.”
“Indeed.” LeCun removed his glasses, rubbed them with a cloth, and replaced them. “Their first assignment will be to patrol the southwest border, watching for the Iron Army’s approach. Their sensors will allow our operators to see and hear everything the bot warriors observe. We can send out individual or mass orders to one, a group, or all of the steel soldiers from kilometers away. Irons is a fool, and Frost, an idealist. We will wait for them to destroy each other, then march in to crush any resistance that remains.”
“The world will then respect the powerhouse they disregarded.” Adélard sat down at his computing station. “Now, let’s make this happen.”
Chapter forty-seven
Eyes in the Sky
Two days later, northwestern Verdancia
First Sergeant Roy Sutter braced against the basket’s rim, binoculars locked to his eyes as he swept the horizon for the enemy. It was an overcast day—good for sparing his eyes but negating sunlight reflecting off metal, catching his attention. Many had volunteered for the reconnaissance mission, and Roy felt honored to have been chosen. Three balloons had been sent scouting, one each from Marchland, Stonevale, and Nelanta. At least one was bound to discover something.
He’d never seen the world from such a high vantage point and marveled at fields and forests, stretching below in grids, varying from deep green to amber. Rivers snaked like veins, branching across the land’s body. Although spared the scorching rays, the heat and humidity dampened his shirt, sweat rolling down his neck.
“Anything?” asked Lieutenant Butler. Taking careful steps, he joined Roy at the rail. Butler was a Black man, much younger, but grew up in Nelanta, receiving a quality education. Also, with his dad a master sergeant in the Engineering Corps, the lad knew the ropes. Roy could respect him—and offer gentle guidance when needed.
“A while back, we passed a meadow teeming with deer. Would have made for excellent hunting.”
This was their second day in the balloon, after grounding while it had been dark. They’d already passed Tupelo, its buildings like matchboxes and dice lined up in patterns. The pilot held them east of the Memphis crater. If the Iron Army was stupid enough to trek through there, they’d all be dead before reaching Marchland. Radiation in most places had cooled off forty-five years later, but the most potent hot zones must be avoided at all costs.
“Want to look elsewhere?” asked Sergeant Liam Carlson.
Yesterday, the fiery-haired pilot had explained that this was a Rozière balloon, a hybrid that operated with both helium- and propane-produced hot air. “Great for longer trips; more versatile, stronger payloads.” He steered it by changing altitudes, catching a wind current blowing the way they wanted to go. Roy just didn’t want it to crash to the ground like a meteorite.
“Not yet,” Butler said. “Let’s keep following old Highway 45. With as large a force as we expect, they’ll want a roadway, even if it’s bumpy.”
The two infantrymen, who brought long-range guns along in case they got into trouble, sat on the basket floor, playing blackjack.
Roy resumed his sweep, praying the weather held. Carlson assured them a little rain wasn’t a problem as long as they didn’t experience high winds. Lightning wasn’t great either. Butler took a turn scouting while Roy sat down for a drink and a bite to eat, glad to give his eyes a break.
By the time he returned to his post, old 45 had turned into old 51, and they’d passed the northern border of Verdancia. Below stretched no-man’s-land—wilds and swamps, inhabited by beasts, mutants, and the uncivilized, all of which would flee before a tremendous army’s advance. Roy was starting to think the intel had been wrong.
“Take us closer to the Mother River,” Butler ordered, lifting his binoculars to search to the west. It was tedious work, yet of vital importance. The pilot pulled a handle, and the balloon sank out from under them, giving Roy the sensation of his stomach catching in his throat. They leveled out about thirty meters lower than they had been cruising.
“I don’t see how you do that,” Roy said.
“Experience reading wind shear.” Carlson shrugged as if it were easy.
Roy took a moment to close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he peered through his lens again, he saw something. As he rolled his forefinger along the focus wheel, his pulse raced. “There!” he yelled excitedly, pointing ahead.
