articles of State Security law," she replied. "CSA must have judicial approval in order to proceed with ... whatever it is that they might wish to do with me."
"That is more or less correct, yes. How does that prospect make you feel?"
"Nervous." A short, heavy silence.
"Why does it make you nervous?" Sandy held the woman's gaze. Then allowed her eyes to stray about the room. And to one side, as if indicating the guards who stood against the wall behind her. Back to the woman.
"Because I feel I have a lot to fear. I'm hoping that you can tell me otherwise." There was no immediate reply. The woman looked down at her screen.
"Captain Kresnov," said the man on the left. He was a big, stern-looking man. His look was serious enough to be almost menacing. "What are you? How would you describe yourself?"
A deep breath. It hurt her gut, and pulled tight at her bandages. "I suppose the simple answer is that I am an artificial human being, Your Honour."
"Designed for what purpose?" Trap. Sandy felt her stomach tense. Her throat was dry again. She wished she had a table on which to rest a glass of water.
"I feel I should remind you that the original design purpose does not necessarily correlate with the precise nature of the finished ..."
"Just answer the question, please. What did your designers have in mind when they made you?"
"Money, probably." The man's face darkened.
"Are you not prepared to answer the question?"
Sandy took a breath. "I was created to be a soldier. As you well know, Your Honour."
"But you're much more than that, aren't you?" The man's tone was hard, darkened by some unnamed emotion. "Your official designation is GI for General Issue, but your unofficial League designation is HK, isn't it? GI-5074J-HK. Can you tell me what the HK stands for?"
Sandy stared at him. "Do all Supreme Court judges waste time with rhetorical questions?"
"HK," the man continued forcefully, "stands for Hunter Killer. Does it not, Captain Kresnov?"
"It does, Your Honour. But someone else invented that label, and its relevance ..."
"Someone else invented you , Ms Kresnov. Someone else invented you for the sole purpose of killing as many of us flesh and blood human beings as technologically possible, didn't they?"
Sandy blinked slowly. Her nerves were settling surprisingly fast. Her vision fixed unerringly on the big, square-jawed man with the ruddy face. Eyes half-slid unconsciously into infrared, tuning through the spectrums. Targeting.
"And so the next question, Your Honour, is how should I achieve this objective that you have set for me?" Very calmly.
"Please explain what you mean," Judge Guderjaal cut in before the big man could respond. Sandy's gaze did not waiver even a fraction.
"I mean that creating the perfect 'killing machine' has been attempted before, in a literal, technological sense. But most artificial intelligences cannot tactically coordinate and process abstract data on the same level as humans. The robot soldiers I've seen in perhaps a dozen TV programs and movies since I've been a civilian in reality are little more than cannon fodder.
"I am not a 'killing machine' I was designed specifically to think laterally and creatively, well beyond the level of basic abstraction. The only biomechanical entity known to humans that can achieve this is still the human brain. My brain is a copy, an imprint, of the original article. I have the tactical skills required of a soldier, but as an automatic side-effect I also have emotions, and personality, to the same extent as any person in this room. In fact, I do not believe I could be the tactician I am without that emotional input. That is my creative side. Without creativity, I'm just a target."
"You mean to say," the woman asked, "that emotions such as fear are actually of assistance to your combat performance? I'm not certain that that makes sense to me." Suspiciously.
Sandy looked at her, vision still tracking. Closed her eyes softly, restoring normal vision.
"That is more or less correct, yes. How does that prospect make you feel?"
"Nervous." A short, heavy silence.
"Why does it make you nervous?" Sandy held the woman's gaze. Then allowed her eyes to stray about the room. And to one side, as if indicating the guards who stood against the wall behind her. Back to the woman.
"Because I feel I have a lot to fear. I'm hoping that you can tell me otherwise." There was no immediate reply. The woman looked down at her screen.
"Captain Kresnov," said the man on the left. He was a big, stern-looking man. His look was serious enough to be almost menacing. "What are you? How would you describe yourself?"
A deep breath. It hurt her gut, and pulled tight at her bandages. "I suppose the simple answer is that I am an artificial human being, Your Honour."
"Designed for what purpose?" Trap. Sandy felt her stomach tense. Her throat was dry again. She wished she had a table on which to rest a glass of water.
"I feel I should remind you that the original design purpose does not necessarily correlate with the precise nature of the finished ..."
"Just answer the question, please. What did your designers have in mind when they made you?"
"Money, probably." The man's face darkened.
"Are you not prepared to answer the question?"
Sandy took a breath. "I was created to be a soldier. As you well know, Your Honour."
"But you're much more than that, aren't you?" The man's tone was hard, darkened by some unnamed emotion. "Your official designation is GI for General Issue, but your unofficial League designation is HK, isn't it? GI-5074J-HK. Can you tell me what the HK stands for?"
Sandy stared at him. "Do all Supreme Court judges waste time with rhetorical questions?"
"HK," the man continued forcefully, "stands for Hunter Killer. Does it not, Captain Kresnov?"
"It does, Your Honour. But someone else invented that label, and its relevance ..."
"Someone else invented you , Ms Kresnov. Someone else invented you for the sole purpose of killing as many of us flesh and blood human beings as technologically possible, didn't they?"
Sandy blinked slowly. Her nerves were settling surprisingly fast. Her vision fixed unerringly on the big, square-jawed man with the ruddy face. Eyes half-slid unconsciously into infrared, tuning through the spectrums. Targeting.
"And so the next question, Your Honour, is how should I achieve this objective that you have set for me?" Very calmly.
"Please explain what you mean," Judge Guderjaal cut in before the big man could respond. Sandy's gaze did not waiver even a fraction.
"I mean that creating the perfect 'killing machine' has been attempted before, in a literal, technological sense. But most artificial intelligences cannot tactically coordinate and process abstract data on the same level as humans. The robot soldiers I've seen in perhaps a dozen TV programs and movies since I've been a civilian in reality are little more than cannon fodder.
"I am not a 'killing machine' I was designed specifically to think laterally and creatively, well beyond the level of basic abstraction. The only biomechanical entity known to humans that can achieve this is still the human brain. My brain is a copy, an imprint, of the original article. I have the tactical skills required of a soldier, but as an automatic side-effect I also have emotions, and personality, to the same extent as any person in this room. In fact, I do not believe I could be the tactician I am without that emotional input. That is my creative side. Without creativity, I'm just a target."
"You mean to say," the woman asked, "that emotions such as fear are actually of assistance to your combat performance? I'm not certain that that makes sense to me." Suspiciously.
Sandy looked at her, vision still tracking. Closed her eyes softly, restoring normal vision.
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