Chapter 4.
Lance Murphy was inside a cavernous firing range deep in the bowels of the BPI skyscraper in Manila. He had just assembled a newly developed and freshly printed multi-gun with the help of Batac, one of Lago’s oldest and most trusted Masama.
“This gun is too small, too flimsy. I don’t want to be breaking it.” Batac’s voice rumbled as he held the multi-gun in his big hands and squinted down the sight.
Lance shook his head. “You will never break it. It’s made of layers of graphene fibre.”
Batac went to put the multi-gun over his knee to test the theory but Lance quickly stopped him. “That wasn’t a challenge Batac.”
Batac looked unimpressed with the new weapon. “How long have you been making these guns?”
Lance pulled out a pack of sterile wipes, extracted one and began meticulously washing his hands. “Long enough Batac, long enough to be the best at it. This new multi-gun is a mean motherfucker.”
Batac raised his scarred eyebrows and sneered. “Looks like a toy.”
Lance turned and as Lago made his entrance through the soundproof doors, as always closely followed by Goran. He nervously rubbed the sterile wipe over his hands again.
Without a word, Lago took the new prototype multi-gun from Batac and held it with one extended arm. He glanced behind at the three men observing.
“Lightweight,” Lago nodded his approval.
“It’s very powerful, a big improvement on the last model.”
Lago adjusted his stance and still holding the multi-gun in one hand, fired off a volley of bullets which destroyed the target at the other end of the illuminated gallery. Threads of smoke lazily ascended from the barrel and the faintly satisfying smell of sulphur filled the air.
“Impressive,” whispered Lago.
“There are eight different settings on the display panel, from taser to heavy calibre. Also, flamethrower, heat seeker, laser attachment and a missile launcher for good measure. All with independent targeting.”
Lago nodded and adjusted the settings. He turned and pointed the multi-gun, firing directly at his companions. Lance screamed and dived to the floor. Batac looked confused but stayed standing and Goran did not move a muscle, he stood expressionless as the missiles bent back towards the target faster than the eye could see. The ensuing explosion was deafening, and a hot wind blew through them.
“Ah, probably best if you don't use the homing missiles in here,” yelled Lance from the floor. “Might bring the building down.”
Lago laughed. This was an extremely rare event and added to Lance’s anxiety.
“Imagine what we could have done if we had these twenty years ago,” Lago muttered as he admired the sleek design of the multi-gun.
“You would have been unstoppable.” Lance got back to his feet, hoping to gain some favour.
“What do you say Goran? Would have settled a few debts quicker with the help of these toys when we started out. Imagine what the Masama would have done with them.”
“Yes.” Goran stared stonily at the smoking target for a long moment. “But what use are they now? No one would be foolish enough to go to war with us. All our battles are fought in the boardroom.”
“Pays to be prepared Goran, never forget the wars we fought to get where we are today.”
“We fucked them up.” Batac contributed.
“Yes, Batac we did,” Lago did not hide his condescension.
“They were good times,” Batac stated as Lago rolled his eyes.
“We won the drug wars we didn’t even need to fight.” Lance was emboldened by Lago’s approval and felt he had to contribute. “Once I figured out how to print the drugs it was all too easy, just download a blueprint of the recipe, add the precursors and a printer would do the rest. No more messy fighting and dangerous labs, no more thugs and criminals to do our dirty work, just nice clean machines that don’t talk back.”
“Those drug wars were more important to the evolution of Benevolent Progress than you realize Lance.” Lago waved the multi-gun around to emphasize his point. “I admit some of my Philippino compatriots may have been a little unhinged, but we needed to make an impression. The trail of bodies we left across the archipelago showed that we were serious and the thugs and criminals as you call them became the most elite fighting force in the world. The Masama.”
Lance looked at the hulking figure of Batac, mouth hanging open, brow furrowed trying to keep up with the conversation.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
‘Maybe not the best example,” Lago indicated in Batac’s direction. “But in those savage times, important lessons were learned. If you are big and brutal enough, you can make your own laws. Now instead of fighting some tooled-up peasants in the jungle, we are fighting the global superpower of China. And we are winning.” Lance instinctively ducked as Lago waved the multi-gun around again.
“All thanks to my printing expertise,” said Lance. “China built their wealth on the back of a huge labour force. They pushed the mass-manufacturing model to its limit and turned their country into the planet's workshop, but now they can only watch their huge economy collapsing. They can’t compete with our fleet of 3D printer factory ships.”
“Our fleet?” Lago rounded on Lance. “Have you forgotten to take your pills boy? if it wasn’t for me, you would still be rotting in that psych ward I found you in, maybe I should have left you there.”
“I may have had some issues, maybe I was a little bit paranoid back then, but with good reason.” Lance felt unusually bold.
“You were a mess back then! You had a bipolar disorder, attention deficit and obsessive-compulsive. You believed the Government was watching your every move.” mocked Lago.
“They were!” yelled Lance.
“You also believed in a zombie apocalypse, lizard shapeshifters and you were busy preparing yourself for Armageddon,” Lago shouted back.
“Can’t be too careful,” muttered Lance as he worked another sterile wipe over his hands. He knew arguing with Lago was pointless and potentially dangerous.
Lago stalked off towards the exit. He reached the door and realised he was still carrying the multi-gun. “Get these out to the Masama,” he said as he tossed the gun towards Batac.
Inside the lift, Lago studied his reflection. He straightened his back and narrowed his eyes. Born to rule, he thought. Unrestricted by social, cultural or political laws and niceties. No obstacle was too big. He was not concerned with what was legal or illegal; he was above the law, he was more than human, the next evolutionary step. After twenty years of ruthless empire-building, eliminating rivals and becoming possibly the most powerful man on the planet, Lago was ready for the Moon and beyond.
From the top floor of his BPI Manila penthouse, over the smog, he could just see the faint buzz of activity above his most ambitious project. The orbital elevator being constructed out in the South China Sea. It was now almost as high as his skyscraper and it was growing fast. A blur of busy drones marked the point in the sky it had reached but there was a long way to go. Once completed Lago could control access to the solar system. He would use the orbiting space station tethered to the Earth as a launch pad to the stars. Mining, tourism, and exploration, the possibilities were endless. First, he would build a factory on the space station and use the billions of tonnes of space junk floating around the planet as his raw printing material. He would be doing the planet a favour by recycling the junk but more importantly, it was free and easily accessible metal substrate. It was a visionary and hugely ambitious plan. Lago could see it all mapped out in his mind. But every step was taking too long to complete, progress was frustratingly slow. Lago was grateful for his extended longevity; he would need to live centuries to see his megalomaniacal plans made real.
But the helium 3 project on the Moon was causing him concern. The Moon mining operation was critical because it would provide the energy to fuel his ambitions. He had the delivery drones ready to shuttle the fuel from the Moon. He had his fusion reactors ready and waiting for the raw material. He just needed his technicians on the Moon to start harvesting the helium 3. It was most frustrating because the Moon was too far away, beyond his immediate control. Jack and his technicians acted like they were immune to his intimidation tactics and they were not achieving their targets.
Jack treated him almost casually, maybe because Jack knew he was far away Lago couldn’t reach him. In the meantime, the endless stream of excuses about faulty equipment and HEMI software not responding just made Lago's mood even darker. After last night's unsatisfying sexual experience and news today that little or no progress had been made on the Moon, Lago was in a particularly foul mood. Shooting rounds on Lance's new multi-gun provided some sense of relief but it was only temporary solace.
Lago’s console chimed. Lance was at the door.
“What the fuck do you want now?” Lago muttered as he opened the door.
“We destroyed another startup in Brazil yesterday Lago, but we are finding more of these tech firms all the time. It will only be a matter of time before one of them creates an AI, even by accident.”
“I don’t want to hear about your paranoias again Lance. I have indulged you with the resources to deal with these tech firms so deal with them.”
“I need more though Lago, more surveillance and more Masama. This is a major threat not only to BPI but the entire human race. I believe it’s inevitable, an intelligent machine created to serve us will one day decide we are dispensable and wipe us all out. The singularity, when an AI becomes more intelligent than us, we won’t be able to control it anymore.” Lance was ranting, wide-eyed and obsessively scratching the back of his hands. “We have got to keep this tech suppressed.”
Lago ignored him, staring at his console.
“Atoms!” Lance yelled.
“What the fuck are you babbling about.”
“We are all made of atoms, right? An artificial intelligence with an IQ of a thousand or a million might decide our atoms would be put to better use in something else. It would treat humans like humans treat insects.”
“You are not getting any more resources and if you keep wasting my time with your paranoid obsessions you will be spending the rest of your life on a factory ship!” Lago snapped. “You have my permission to oversee our entire network and you have surveillance to watch out for any computers that may be having thoughts above their station. Shut up, go take your pills and don’t bother me again with your trivial concerns.”
Lance ground his teeth but kept his mouth shut as he extracted more sterile hand wipes. He knew his place.
Lago turned his back on the morose figure and went to the window.
“The multi-guns, will they work just as well on the Moon? I may have to send someone up there soon to provide Jack and his technicians with some incentive.”
“Yes of course,” Lance had no hesitation.
“Get them out to the Masama immediately,” said Lago as his console chimed. It was Jack, his supervisor on the moon base. Lago stared at it wondering if he had unconsciously willed this communication just by thinking about him. It wouldn't be the first time he thought. The Masama were known for their telepathy but he was convinced he had some form of precognition himself. He flicked Jack up onto a bigger wall screen and immediately scowled at the image that appeared. A dishevelled, distraught face greeted him.
“What the fuck has gone wrong now,” growled Lago.