Birds of a Feather

by

conclusion

Phase One of the Omegan operation was a satellite launched missle barrage on Anarchist targets in the northwestern region of the Indian sub-continent. After the targets had been softened up, the first wave of 2,500 Omegan military spacecraft began local airborne search and destroy missions.

Omegan mobile infantry landed on an open plain east of the Zhob River in what had once been the failed nation-state of Pakistan, and assaulted the ruins of an ancient castle on a 150-foot high ridge to the north, where, according to the captured bomber, the leadership of the armed wing of the Anarchist network had established its last known command and communications center. Orders were to take Moab dead or alive.

News coverage of the Omegan assault and graphic images of the intense fighting, wounded civilians, and mass destruction provoked an outcry on Earth. A scratchy video of a disheveled and bloodied, but still defiant Moab, huddled with his bodyguards, was broadcast on the international media. Over the sound of shelling and explosions in the background, Moab’s words could be heard,

“Fellow humans, believe us! Anarchist forces took no part in the lunar attack. The alien devils staged the incident themselves to justify the invasion. But we swear to fight these inhuman aggressors to the last drop of Anarchist blood. We appeal to all peoples and nations on Earth to unite against these mechanical monsters before...”

At this point in the video, the whistle of an incoming rocket was heard on the audio track. Moab and his lieutenants looked skyward, threw up their hands, and the screen went black.

The European Union lodged formal and strenuous protest with the Omegan mission in Brussels. The Pan-African Confederation severed all diplomatic ties with Omega and mobilized its armed forces. Rioting and looting broke out in the slums of Caracas, Brasilia, and Los Angeles. The U.S. and its allies convened top level talks among the American President and the British and Austrozealand Prime Ministers to deal with the crisis.

The American Congress met in emergency session with leaders of the majority and minority parties unified in their opposition to the Omegan operation. The Speaker of the House and the Senate Majority Leader introduced a joint resolution condemning the Omegan incursion as a material breach of the treaties and protocols governing Terran-Omegan relations and called for the immediate suspension of the free trade agreement and a halt on all shipments of materials and goods to Omega pending resolution of the current conflict.

There was, however, amidst this general outcry, a faction of American businessmen and political leaders where cooler heads prevailed. Senator Steele led this faction.

From the floor of the Senate, he denounced Moab. Steele implored his colleagues, the nation, and the world, “In the heat of the moment, let us not forget the historic struggle between the forces of good and the forces of evil, between freedom and anarchy, between order and chaos. Let us not, in haste, lose sight of the mutual benefits of cooperation with our civilized neighbors from the stars.

“Let us understand the economic and political consequences of severing ties, of halting trade, of abandoning our new friends and getting in bed with the Anarchist devil. Suspension of trade with Omega would do great harm to American industry and, consequently, to the American way of life.

“Need I remind you, it was the Anarchists who initiated hostilities; the Anarchists who attacked the Omegans. Need I remind you that the Omegans, with their belief in God, whom they call the Original Entity; with their advanced political, economic, and social organization; with their respect for law and order and for free trade; are in much greater harmony with American ideals and principles than these barbaric and fanatical Anarchists who have fought us in the past; who hate freedom and seek the violent overthrow of civilization and its institutions.

“We must proceed with caution and restraint. We must avoid this headlong rush to war. After all, is it really our battle to fight? Have not these Anarchists, no friends of ours, brought this upon themselves?”

In closed session, the Armed Services Committee heard classified testimony from the Secretary of Defense. Committee Chairman Steele challenged the witness: “Mr. Secretary, surely you acknowledge there are many questions regarding the accuracy of reports from the invasion front. And may I bring to your attention, Mr. Secretary, the inescapable fact that suspension of export of molybdenum to Omega, as proposed by my colleagues from across the aisle, would necessitate assurances and concessions on the part of the Federal trade and tax authorities towards the molybdenum mining industry else that sector should unfairly bear an undue portion of the economic burden of armed conflict with the Omegans...”

The urgency of the developing situation led Steele to take extraordinary measures. He quietly and on his own contacted the Omegan mission in Washington and requested a secret meeting with the Omegan Ambassador.

The Ambassador agreed at once and suggested as venue his residence, a modest but comfortable townhouse in the Georgetown section of Washington DC. The Senator arrived alone, after dark, and was ushered into a well furnished, dimly lit living room with the shades drawn.

The Ambassador entered and Steele extended his right hand, silvery, metallic, reflecting the lamplight. The Ambassador took it firmly in his own hydraulic grip.

“Good to see you, Senator. Please, be seated.”

“Things are not going well,” Steele said to the Ambassador.

“That depends on your point of view.”

The Senator’s mechanical legs hummed and clicked as the hinges on his knee joints swung and he lowered himself into the chair.

“We’re doing what we can, Mr. Ambassador, but our opponents’ position is strengthened by the unfortunate one-sided media coverage of events on the Asian front.”

“I understand.”

“Mr. Ambassador, before proceeding any further, I have to ask you a very delicate question. Something’s been bothering me since our visit to your mine. We need to clear the air.”

“Yes?”

“What are you feeding your humanoids on Luna? What are you putting in their food? We had a sample of the substance analyzed. It’s dope.”

The Ambassador’s facial screen did not flicker. His voice hummed impassively, “It’s a tranquilizer. We have genetically engineered the bipeds for several millenia in order to maximize their suitability to perform the tasks required of them by our social order.

“It has not yet been possible to completely engineer out the streak of stubbornness and rebelliousness, which is one of the dominant characteristics of your genus. Until such time as the genetic solution is reached, chemical means must be employed.”

The Senator’s mind was racing. He turned to the Ambassador: “This Omegan humanoid situation is explosive! If news leaks out, it will not to sit well with authorities on Earth. It could swing public opinion and lead America to alliance with the Anarchists and war with the Omega. Release of this information must be prevented and any leak will require careful spin.

“The sub-human nature of your bipeds would need to be stressed and linked to the idea that Omegan robots were nurturing the humanoids, that the bipeds were wholly dependent on you, that these measures will prove beneficial in the long run and were taken for the bipeds’ own good...”

Senator Steele broke off. He was deathly pale.

“You don’t look well, Senator.”

“There’s something wrong with me. I’m not myself. I think I’m sick. I haven’t been feeling well, not since the open hostilities began. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Since about the time your forces landed, I have felt ill; it’s not pain, but emptiness, anxiety. My hands are shaking...”

“You have a processor on the circuit board which regulates the pump our emergency repair unit installed when your heart failed. That processor registers the incoming magnetic impulse from other networked units and transmits back. You are experiencing system instability due to reduction of the shared magnetic field when Omegan units are destroyed in combat on the Anarchist front.”

“Why do they have to be disconnected? Why should perfectly good units be destroyed? It seems so pointless. There must be a better way!”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? On one level, it is a complete and utter waste of resources and equipment. But no better way has yet been found. And in the meanwhile...”

The Omegan-Anarchist conflict dragged on for five years in a furious stalemate with no end in sight. The Omegan military occupied the Anarchist sympathizer population centers but was not able to extend its control into the countryside, where anarchy continued to reign, and, even in the cities, Omegan forces were poorly positioned, always at risk, and remained isolated in security zones with no contact with the hostile local population.

It was not known whether Moab was alive or dead. Statements continued to be issued in his name, but the Omegan Information Services maintained he had been killed in the assault on Zhob when the Anarchist command center had received a direct hit from an Omegan tactical enhanced radiation neutron warhead. Since all life forms in the blast zone were melted by radiation and only small puddles remained, it was difficult to prove for certain that Moab had been killed and legends of his escape and continued leadership of the anti-Omegan forces spread and were believed by many.

Outgunned by the Omegans, the Anarchists resorted to the time-honored tactics of asymmetrical warfare. They retreated further into the mountainous terrain, dissolved into the civilian populations of the urban centers, and harassed the Omegan occupation forces with continuous guerilla activity, raids, roadside bombs, and sabotage.

The European Union, throughout the five-year conflict, continued to protest the Omegan occupation and to maintain a half-hearted and uneasy truce with their former enemy, the Anarchists.

Anti-Anarchist sentiment in the U.S. was strong enough to stall the efforts of the pro-Earth parties to bring the Anglo-American coalition into the war on the side of the humans.

The question of sending a multi-national peacekeeping force to Asia and enforcing a human-only zone in the Anarchist regions was debated back and forth but never resolved, and healthy trade in molybdenum and other materials and goods continued with Omega, subject to strict new regulation which was somehow never enforced.

Senator Steele, plagued with a persistent and troubling malaise, flew to Vegas for a much needed break. It wasn’t that he was cracking up, he told himself. He just needed to get a grip. He didn’t feel sharp. He was out of focus, having difficulty wrapping his mind around the complexities of the Terran-Omegan situation. His normally astute intuition as to which side of the bread was buttered seemed to be failing him. He was caught in contradictions and paradoxes; the path was unclear.

A couple of nights in Vegas with the slots and the girls should be just what the doctor ordered. But when he stood in the high roller room, clutching a wad of hundreds, and grasped the bronze handle, he felt himself on the verge of panic. The money meant nothing. Little green pieces of paper. The slot machine was dead. There was no thrill, no relief, nothing. In disgust, he threw the wad of bills across the room and stalked out as gamblers and hotel staff dove for the fluttering bills. What’s happening to me?, he wondered. What’s wrong with me?”

He flew back to Washington the next morning. He took one call in flight, from the chief lobbyist for the Molybdenum Mining Association. The tinny voice crackled through the earpiece,

“Listen here, Claiborne! The pro-Earth bloc in the Senate is introducing legislation providing for sanctions against the Omegans. They’re demanding a military embargo. I don’t have to tell you the results would be disastrous to the Association and to Amalgamated Mining’s financial health, as well. We’ve got to stop it. This legislation must never be allowed to reach the floor. We have the votes. A number of senators can be influenced; they are already wavering; money is not a problem...”

The Senator suddenly felt empty and hollow. He broke into a cold sweat. Three Omegan units, deployed near Zhob, had just been pulverized by an Anachist anti-mech round. Steele hung up the phone, trembling.

Once back in Washington, Senator Steele hurriedly made an appointment to see his physician. He felt he was losing his grip on reality, going slowly insane, and hoped against hope that his doctor might diagnose the illness and provide a cure before he slid too much further into the growing and frightening darkness which was filling his mind and paralyzing his will.

The doctor was taken aback by his patient’s DX-9 limbs, his fluid pump, and cranial circuitry. Unable to run the complete battery of tests because Steele’s magnetic field was interfering with the readings of the medical instruments, the physician thought it advisable to consult with an electrical engineer regarding Steele’s condition.

In their considered joint opinion, the transplanted Omegan hardware was interacting with his biological systems, causing, over time, a subtle but detectable re-routing of certain neural pathways which his conscious mind experienced as illogical changes in thoughts and moods.

In the five years since the fluid pump had been installed in his chest and the pump’s magnetic impulse sensor had hooked him into the Omegan network, Steele had experienced a continuous sensation of connection with other units and episodes of personal loss when units were disconnected or destroyed, lowering the levels of shared magnetic impulse.

The sensation of connection, over the course of time, caused his thinking to evolve. He shed many of his prior convictions and prejudices as inadequate or simply wrong and looked now with disbelief at the vanity and futility of the Terran-Omegan conflict.

It got to the point where he could not, in good conscience, continue to live the life he had been living. His political ambitions and business affairs, once the source of pride and satisfaction and the outlet for his aggressions, now seemed empty and hollow. The thought of gambling, which had intrigued and fascinated him, grew unbearably dull.

War, which had once seemed glorious not to mention extremely profitable, now filled him with revulsion at the needless waste and sacrifice of human lives and Omegan units.

Unable to go on as before, Senator Steele renounced politics, resigned from the Senate, retired from public life, and went into seclusion. Away from the glaring lights and microphones of Washington politics, he embraced an ascetic lifestyle of contemplation and quiet research. His former thirst for power and wealth fell like a dry leaf from an autumn branch as his mind moved on to higher levels of consciousness.

Two years passed and, in 2072, he came out of his cocoon, a changed man. He began writing and giving speeches devoted to the cause of interplanetary peace. He spoke, to all who would listen, of the intrinsic value of existence, be it human or Omegan, man or machine.

He quietly arranged for the anonymous transfer of the substantial income from his Amalgamated Mining holdings to the account of the Interplanetary Society of Peace and Progress, an organization of Terran and Omegan scientists and leaders in various fields, devoted to peace, cooperation, arms control and reduction of hostilities.

He traveled in new circles, met new people, encountered new ideas, and began to experience a sense of worth and fulfillment, which he had never known nor even dreamed existed in his previous life.

Steele sat one afternoon at his desk, composing a letter to the Peace and Progress Society, accepting their invitation to serve as mediator in the recently proposed Anarchist-Omegan ceasefire negotiations. He paused and looked out through the reinforced transparent shield, which insulated his small lunar ranch from the starkly beautiful but inhospitable lunar landscape.

As he gazed in reverence at the gray, cratered landscape, the dark, star-speckled sky, and the blue-green Earthrise as the edge of the huge disc loomed over the horizon, he heard behind him familiar and comforting sounds from the kitchen. The simple sounds of water running, the refrigerator door closing, the soft footsteps inexplicably evoked in him a feeling of contentment, of gratitude, of pity for the things and beings of the universe.

Without turning, without looking, he sensed her presence, her approach. He felt her fingers touch his shoulder lightly and a wave of pleasure coursed through his body. He turned and spoke,

“Darling, we don’t deserve to be this happy.”

She shook her head. Her beautiful big blue video input sensors sparkled and the image of a gentle smile flickered on her facial screen...