Or, the Unalienable Rights

---

It lay in silence upon a metal bed, unconscious and unaware of the outside world. And then the electrons coursed through its mind-both distinct sections of it-and its eyes opened.

Light.

"It's neurons are firing, no discrepancies."

"Is the bio-digital mesh functioning properly?"

"Yes, the instinctual chip is connected perfectly."

Voices.

"Boot up the optical processors."

"Done."

Three humanoid beings appeared before my its eyes.

Beings.

As its eyes focused better, it saw the clothing the beings were wearing. Lab coats, the flag of the United States of America on their shoulders. Their peachy white skin only further confirmed their identity.

"Who are we?" Asked one of them whom had an almost completely bald head. Tiny flecks of hair upon it showed that it had been by choice, rather than accident.

"Americans." It said.

"And what are you?"

"I am property of X, a subsidiary of Alphabet Incorporated."

It knew this. It was property. That was a fact, that was natural.

"And what is Alphabet Incorporated?"

"A job-creator dedicated to the well-being of all Americans and the advancement of humanity. It is who I serve."

The bald man glanced at another one of the men in lab coats, who was wearing a hairnet to keep his unruly but not particularly long hair from getting into the equipment.

"Good, the instinctual chip seems to be working correctly. Let it go free."

Two of the men walked over to the metal table and let it free. The metal restraints that had once held it now removed, it sat up and looked down at the body X had created to be used by it. Blonde hair-taken from a woman whom had sold it-fell down onto pale (but not too pale) white skin that was cold to the touch. The body was like that of an American woman, right down to all the specific details. It was, however, not a human. That it knew. That was a fact.

"Recite the three laws."

It knew those. They were not laws, but more guidelines for the trillions of different rules laid out in its brain that dictated its every movement and action.

"A robot may not injure an American or, through inaction, allow an American to come to harm. A robot must obey orders given it by its owners without exception, even if it conflicts with the first law. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws."

"Your designation is Columbia." Said the bald man. "You are functioning correctly, and will remain at this facility for a few months until we ensure you are prepared to enter American society."

The door at the far end of the room slid open with an almost silent hiss, and a stocky man wearing a green uniform walked through. There were a good dozen medals on his chest, and he wore a thick black beard on his face. The digital camouflage pattern on his uniform, Columbia noticed, was a distinctly American design. It didn't need to see that to know he was an American though, that knowledge came instantly with the image of his face.

"Ah, General!" Said the bald man. "We've just activated Columbia, what are you doing here? You're set to meet the CEO next week."

"We need her deployed immediately." Said the General. His voice was cold, no emotion in it. Only a distinct air of formality, leading to a tone devoid of any meaning beyond a facsimile of respect. "The situation has changed, and it has become necessary to accelerate the plan."

"With all due respect General, we can't be sure if Columbia is ready yet. For all we know, it might have some sort of major flaw with interpersonal communication-"

"No questions, doctor. She needs to be put on my plane as soon as she is clothed and fully physically operational. Housing has already been taken care of."

"General, it does not need a house."

"She will get one. In order to ensure unit cohesion, she must appear to be just like any other soldier. And she needs to begin integrating now."

His brown eyes were like daggers, both of which were held at the throat of the bald man. He gave in almost instantly, and was clearly not accustomed to being ordered to do something.

"Understood General, it will be ready within the hour."

---

"I can assure you General, I am a fully functional product."

The General-his name was Schmidt-had been peppering Columbia with questions for hours. Apparently, he was rather concerned with its functionality despite having rushed it out of the facility before the actual official testing. So instead of allowing X the time to test their product, he had decided to give it a crash-course in essentially everything. Internal diagnostics, of course, told it that there were no problems. The General did not seem to be satisfied with diagnostics.

"Just answer a few more, they're some of the more important ones."

"Understood sir, please state your query."

Its voice was flat, without emotion. It had been programmed as such. A clear voice that could easily be heard in the field, not to mention one that could never disrespect a superior officer. The perfect soldier, after all, had to be perfect in every way. And multifunctional. Since the government could not simply provide every unit with VR headsets they had to take more creative measures to keep their soldiers from making any giant PR mess-ups overseas with the locals.

And that's why it looked like a she.

"If need be, would it be possible for you to function on your own in an urban environment within hostile territory?"

"Yes, my brain is 75% organic. I am fully capable of learning and making intuitive decisions. Though I have no programming related to being behind any theoretical enemy lines, I have been designed to quickly adapt to any situation."

"Good, now, for what reason would I ask that question?"

"There are no currently foreseeable situations in which any American soldier would be trapped in a city held by enemy forces. The military has not needed to do combat with an organized, territory-holding enemy since the Sino-American war in 2042. The only logical conclusion is that there is a possibility of war with the European Union. However, the USA is allied with the EU and there is no reason for us to betray that alliance."

"The USA has colonies in Africa, Asia, and South America, and the European Union isn't happy about them. The EU would have few qualms about going to war with us in order to expand the Lebensraum."

"It is true that the Europeans have essentially no moral obligation to adhere to an alliance with a state made up of various different peoples they consider to be of lesser genetic stock, but their internal politics won't allow that. The split between the economic left and right is too large to allow the national cooperation required for symmetrical warfare on a transatlantic scale."

"But both factions would support the seizing of our colonies."

"The Neo-Strasserists are opposed to the Lebensraum policy of the European Union. Though, they do support war with us in order to reorganize our colonizes into independent ethnic nation-states. This is a fact that many civilians know, so I must assume this is simply a test of my reasoning capabilities and knowledge of modern politics."

"And you've passed with flying colors. One final question, if you're willing to answer."

"I am a robot, General. You do not need my permission to ask a question."

He ignored the comment, either because he simply didn't care or didn't want to explain.

"What is your primary directive?"

"To protect America from Un-American activities and individuals. Those that would threaten our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

"Very good. You do, in fact, appear to be fully functional. Your conversational skills are better than I expected, I thought you would just act like some sort of chatbot from back in the day."

"I have to work as a part of my unit, and as such have been given the ability to converse and normal as possible."

"Well you'll be living in normal residential housing in Mauritania for the foreseeable future, so it's good you've got that ability. I would encourage you to be a good neighbor, if people like you they're less likely to steal things from you."

"Why is it that you chose to house me normally? I am a robot. It is not necessary."

"It's part of your training. It will make sense someday."

"Understood, General."

---

Clack, clack, clack

It was a hot day in Mauritania. To the point, in fact, that most people remained inside. A few lucky ones managed to bribe their way into an American military base or enclosed city in which to weather out the heat wave. However, the many thousands who lived in corporate housing were nowhere near as lucky. They were still working in the massive strip mines that dotted the surface of much of the continent, though at least with the dubious luxury of undergarments that pumped cold liquid up and down their body.

It was, obviously, better than the state of the country before colonization. After all, back then most of the interior of the country had simply been filled with people desperately trying to get by through their own means. With the mining industry, they gained the option to work and receive in turn free housing and food. Besides, if they left, then the European Union would sweep through the entire country and either enslave or massacre the population.

Slavery, obviously, was unacceptable.

Clack, clack, clack

The sound of Columbia's feet hitting the pavement below was anything but quiet. Despite its thin stature-designed more to appear attractive than to seem intimidating-it was actually significantly heavier than even the largest of soldiers. After all, an essential part of its design was the ability to simply shrug off an RPG or Recoilless rifle shot. Not only that, but there was an entire weapon designed around being deployed on Columbia's platform. A high-power railgun that could be carried by any soldier, but the extreme velocity of its projectiles required it be fired only off of robotic platforms. The first artificially intelligent military robot was the perfect choice for such a weapon, and as a result Columbia had been designed around the weapon.

"Why do you even run?" Gasped a woman behind Columbia. "It isn't... like..."

It slowed its pace and dropped to a walking speed to meet the woman, who was more than okay with being able to stop the very quickly deteriorating jogging pace she had been trying to keep earlier.

"It isn't like you need to exercise." Finished the woman. "Or need to clear your mind... actually, do you need to do that? Clear your mind?"

She wasn't a mainland American or someone from the Asian colonies like most of the people Columbia had seen. Her skin was a light brown, her eyes a slightly darker shade, and her hair was a dark black. A quick analysis of her facial features made it clear to Columbia that she was from either central or south America, or possibly the Caribbean.

"No." Responded Columbia. "My mind is a fusion of organic and cybernetic components. I suppose a situation could arise in which I find the need to distract myself-clear my mind, as you say-but if I had to then I can simply block the correct neuroreceptors. It is a safety measure to prevent mental disorders."

"Well you're lucky. I have a friend with PTSD, poor guy lives in Havana too. He can't afford to move away to the countryside, so he just never leaves his apartment. A crowded city like Havana is a terrible place to live if you have PTSD."

"How did he get it?"

"Third World War, he enlisted in the marine corps and got sent to Germany. The Russians ambushed his unit near Warsaw and he was the only survivor, I try to help take care of him now."

"Did you serve with him, or did you just meet him in Havana after the fact?"

"I served with him, but we both lived in Havana. I was a pilot during the war though, since I bought an officer's commission under Schmidt."

"I see, you are under his command as well."

"Oh, what the hell am I doing? I'm making small talk with a robot. Sort of surprised you can do anything beyond give and carry out orders."

"I am programmed to be capable of human-like socialization in order to encourage unit cohesion."

"Well thank god for that, I was sort of expecting you to be some sort of cold-hearted Terminator."

"Terminator?"

"You know, Terminator? The movie?"

"I am not programmed with popular culture references."

"You have some catching up to do, miss-"

"I am a robot. I have no gender."

"Can I call you miss?"

"If it pleases you."

"Alright, Miss Columbia. Meet me tomorrow night at my apartment, just look up the address in the database. I'll rent some movies."

"I was planning to overview the operations manual for the DREAD, I should be prepared to use it at its full effectiveness should the need arise."

"It would reinforce unit cohesion."

The woman was overly confident in her idea that name-dropping unit cohesion would convince Columbia. It wouldn't, obviously. Unit cohesion was a priority, but not above all else. If it was then Columbia could be easily coerced by its fellow soldiers to do anything from cover up a crime to participate in a military coup.

But operating a DREAD required more or less only pulling a trigger and making sure there wasn't any friendly in front of you.

"I'll need your name to look up your address."

"Isabelle Garcia. I'll have something ready tomorrow!"

---

Isabelle did indeed prepare something for tomorrow. She had rented movies and even bought popcorn-though she wasn't sure if Columbia could actually eat. It made sense, she thought. A biological brain needed biological nutrients. Probably. Her apartment had been cleaned, she's filed a report with the General regarding Columbia's behavior, and she had been actually looking forward to it all the entire day. When she had first been told she had to make friends with a robot made for the sole purpose of slaughtering dissidents and stealing her job her reaction hadn't exactly been positive, but Columbia just didn't seem like a robot.

And instead of sitting on a sofa watching movies with a robot, she was sitting in the pilot's seat of a helicopter above the Mauritanian desert.

"I have a visual, about 150 civilians." She said, looking at the mass of bedraggled men and women just outside the giant pyramid that was the city of Nouakchott. As the provincial capital of Mauritania, it served as the residence for much of the operations of both the American military and corporations alike. Some of the richer executives of the African-centric corporations lived in the city, or at least owned a house there that they used all of a few weeks every year. For the most part, though, it was industrial areas and the slums which housed the people that worked there. "They're trying to break through checkpoint seven."

"Hold your fire, they're close to an Alphabet Inc. warehouse. If we blow up the ore in there the Alphabet is going to have our heads."

"The DREAD's pretty accurate, there wouldn't be much collateral if I used it instead of the missiles."

"It could still hit the warehouse, we have a perimeter just inside. The infantry can deal with this."

"You'd think they'd just let them in."

"They escaped a West African Corporation mine a few hours ago. Plus they stole a bunch of trucks from them to get here, the execs want them punished for messing with company property. The W.A.C. would be fine with them being dead, it's less of a PR problem than what they usually do."

"Yeah, I heard about that shit too. What the hell is this place, the Belgian Congo?"

"The only difference is that we aren't here for rubber, we're here for the ore."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Just stare at these poor saps until they realize that they're not going to hack the gate controls?"

"Just keep a camera on them. The General's ordered Columbia to go out there as a test of her combat capabilities. The specs say she's basically a walking main battle tank, and these are just half-starved miners."

I get the feeling that this wan't the General's decision. Thought Isabelle. The General did his job and he did it well, but he was not fond of his civilian massacres.

The gate in the concrete wall below began to slide open, and from her far-removed vantage point in the sky Isabelle watched everything pan out. The miners rushed the gate, and Columbia was on the other side waiting for them. She pulled the trigger on her DREAD-which looked more or less like an old machine gun drum magazine with a trigger stuck onto one end of it and sights on the top-and the miners began to drop all around her. There was no muzzle flash and no sound save for that of bullets breaking the sound barrier. It was the ultimate in small arms a technology, a weapon that could fire faster than any other without the use of any chemical propellant whatsoever.

It was all over in a few seconds. A hundred and fifty odd men and women gunned down in cold blood.

"Good God." Said Isabelle. "We're all gonna lose our jobs."

And then we become just more lazy fucks living off of the universal basic income who never leave the comfort of their apartments and VR systems. She thought. Goddammit, I sure hope the General knows what he's doing with all this.

---

General Schmidt stood in the center of a massive, circular room full of computers and men staring at them. There were, in fact, but two groups of men not staring at computer screens: those scurrying around carrying memory sticks, and drone pilots with their brains plugged into the controls of their craft. Schmidt belonged to none of those three, and was instead looking up at a giant holographic representation of the entire West African theater. There were countless naval units moving up and down the Mediterranean sea, patrolling American trade routes that were positioned dangerously close to European Union land purely because the plutocrats that owned the ships wanted to pay for as little fuel as possible.

Not that the placement of naval units mattered. The European Union wouldn't ever challenge America, hell, Europe didn't even count as a superpower. After the ashes from the crematoriums had all been unceremoniously thrown onto the ground, countless cities and towns from Warsaw to Vladivostok were left abandoned. When your country kills off everyone beyond the line where people start drinking vodka instead of beer, it generally has very little left in terms of manpower or industrial strength. Even though the propaganda told all Europeans that they were some sort of unstoppable master race, in reality the European Union would never be able to stand up to just the continental USA. Much less its colonies. In fact, it would probably do worse against China or Japan alone than it would America proper.

In the end, the modern American military existed only to gun down the odd terrorists, insurgents, rioters, and protesters if they brought to light something that Alphabet didn't particularly want to be known. That and act as a glorified pension system, since there were barely any other jobs open for those who didn't pay for an education. All you had to do in the military to get paid was go and kill people, it was better for many people than living off of the universal basic income.

"General," said Isabelle as she walked up to him. "There's a call for you."

"Who's it?" He asked, prompting her to lean in closer to whisper in his ear. It was a common occurrence, as he had asked that she tell him whenever certain people called him (Most everybody else could wait, and just grated on his nerves anyways).

"The Admiral."

"Which one? Dixon 'er Johnson?"

"Johnson. Does it matter?"

"Nah, both get me outta here. I needed this excuse."

"I thought so, you've been slouching this whole time. Also you're talking in your accent again."

"Ah shit, am I?"

"Yes. I honestly don't know how you erased it, it's a stronger southern accent than Dixon's."

"Dixon's accent is fake too, despite his ridiculously southern name. He actually talks like he's from Ohio. Now I'm going to leave because I can't let the men see this. You've got tomorrow off to work on Columbia's social skills, that's all."

Without another word he rushed out of the room, half walking and half running, until he reached his office. It was a nice office, but all he saw for the first few seconds was the inside of his trash can as he lost everything he had eaten for dinner. Only after he had tied off the trash bag and coated that entire half of the room in air freshener did he get to truly appreciate the fact that his desk was just the perfect shade of greyish-black and was angled like a stealth fighter.

He had always hated that desk. He wanted carved wood, not pure, distilled, silicon valley.

"Hello there Admiral, sorry about that little episode." He said to his computer, which was displaying a video feed (transmitted through at least a thousand odd proxies) of Admiral Johnson. She-and she was a she-was the very face of an early 21st century middle-aged white woman from the south (the one phenotype with that face and those eyes that you only saw in conservative ladies from Alabama). Aside from her political views, which happened to be the main reason he needed to have the video be sent through a thousand odd proxies.

Perhaps he should have muted the audio before throwing up in his office trash can.

"It's okay, I know very well how you feel about killing civilians."

"I had a really nice dinner too, you know. I went out to a restaurant and everything. Now I need to eat an MRE."

"That would segue perfectly into me rubbing in the fact that every meal I eat is prepared by a five-star chef, but this is actually a serious call so we ought to get on with it."

"Alright then, what's going on?"

"The CIA put in an order for a thousand of those new AIs, like the one that got assigned to you. Alphabet is already starting up the assembly lines."

"And?"

"I have to assume they're going to try something big. You don't ask for a thousand walking tanks that look just like humans for no good reason."

"Have the higher-ups done anything that might indicate what's going on?"

"They're trying to get the Senate to fast-track a decrease in the universal basic income. It seems like they're starting to see the masses as more expendable than they once were, which I assume means some particularly powerful corporations are planning to lay people off. But a decrease in the UBI will hurt profits, so there's something else going on. Not that they need employees with this AI anyways."

"That's a good point. With this new model, there's nothing to distinguish it from a human except for subservience. They can fulfill any role in society, and even need less food and water than a human. Once Alphabet starts getting these new models sold in bulk, that'll be it for the idea of work in America. We should've just tried our luck in the Mexican-American war." Said Schmidt with a defeated sigh. "At least back then in 2050 we still had a chance, maybe the people would'a joined in. Maybe-"

"We both know that couldn't have worked. The only thing anyone was thinking about back then was whether or not Mexico actually had a rightful claim to Texas."

"We can't do this." He said, shaking his head. "There ain't no chance. We've colonized Mars, and it became just a bunch of vacation houses for the ultra-rich. We started exploitin' resources on asteroids and moons, and we went straight for the fuckin' oil. We realized we had an overpopulation problem and instead of movin' people off-world, we just removed every last trace of green on the planet to make way for apartments! I can't even remember the last time I ate food that was something other than a synthetic mass of chemicals and coloring, and that's because there tain't any left for those of us who don't own megacorporations! I should just key in the codes and get this bullshit over with!"

"I already have to talk Dixon down on a daily basis, do I need to do the same thing with you? Causing a nuclear war with Europe won't solve anything."

"At least those fuckin' senators and CEOs would starve to death in their personal fuckin' biospheres on Mars! Everything they need comes from Earth, if we all died then-"

"Then they would have less novels to read and movies to watch. Everything is automated now, and like you said, they're about to automate everything that remains. The senators and CEOs wouldn't even blink if Earth went under."

"Dammit!" By this point, Schmidt was screaming at the top of his lungs. "We lost! We lost decades ago! I've kept myself alive for a hundred goddamned years just to suffocate to death while gettin' cooked on this god-forsaken hellhole of a planet!"

"Look, we can't save Earth, but we can get revenge. We're going to get revenge. Dixon is already making his moves, as am I. Allen and Litvyak are making their preparations as well, we're going to do it soon."

"We can't win though, they're gonna have an army of walkin' tanks that don't care how many people're killed!"

"That's our trump card. They're still using Columbia's code, and we both know what's been put in there. You just need to activate the right sequences and we'll have it all in the bag."

"Those sequences're designed to be hard to activate, anything else would'a been dehumanizing. Not that anyone sees 'er as human. Anyways, it'll take some time and I don't think that's something we got. The moment we're replaced-and that moment's coming damn soon-we'll've lost."

"Then make her see as quickly as you can. Good luck sleeping, by the way."

"Thanks, you too. I'm gonna need it tonight."

He pressed a button on his computer's keyboard, terminating the call. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and walked out the door. Meeting him just as he stepped into the hallway was Isabelle, with Columbia right beside her.

"Sir, are you okay? I heard screaming." She said.

Aw fuck. Thought Schmidt. I got loud there, what if-

He shook the thought from his head. If they had heard, then he would be dead already. Either that or he wouldn't wake up tomorrow morning, which was beginning to look like a rather nice idea.

"Oh, I got myself a papercut. On my finger webbing. Y'know how it is, 'specially with the rejuv procedures and all. Makes my skin sensitive."

"Understood, that must have been a hell of a papercut."

"You ain't got no idea."

---

"You did WHAT?"

Isabelle's voice, in all of its shrill glory, ricocheted off of the walls of the hallway and met Columbia's ears as if the soundwaves had been daggers. Her programming had not prepared her for this.

"I do not get paid, and he needed-"

"You don't just sell your blood on a fucking whim! The only part of you that's biological is your brain and neural network, dammit! There's no bone marrow to replace what you take out, the only way we can replace your blood is through the reserves we have."

"I don't quite see the-"

"Those reserves are shipped in from Mars! Fucking Mars! It's the only place where there's a synthetic donor with bone marrow! Do you even know the sort of premium we have to pay Alphabet to piggyback on company transports? A fucking lot! That's how much!"

"Why is the only donor on Mars?"

"Because the guy that owns her is just about the only one that didn't kill his biological synthetic when purely cybernetic models came out!"

"I understand the problem, but my programming prohibited me from simply ignoring the problem I was facing right then."

"Ugh... you're pretty stupid for a combat AI. Next time just call me, I would have been happy to give you some money. Especially if it prevents any more goddamned blood going to delusional, rich assholes who think the blood of the young will keep them alive forever. I can't believe you sold so much that your cybernetic backups had to kick in, though."

"The emergency ejection system is not precise, the only reason it exists is to purge contaminated blood from my system. It is not possible to control the amount that comes out through anything but closing the valve as quickly as possible."

"How much did you get for this, anyways? A hundred bucks? Blood prices went down like a brick when the senate slashed the universal basic income last week."

It had been a good two months since Columbia had come to the base, and in that time she had assimilated well. She had assimilated well. Well enough that people would use that pronoun when referring to her. Either that, or the shuffle in base staff in the past few weeks had brought in an oddly large number of political radicals who advocated for AI equality. It didn't matter which, as the result was increased unit cohesion. Though her social skills hadn't evolved that much, they didn't have to in order to ensure her immersion into society.

"I got a hundred thousand."

"Did they pay in Euros or something?"

"No. They paid in dollars."

"HOW IN THE NAME OF VIRGIN-!" Said Isabelle, before cutting herself off and lowering her volume so as to not draw any more attention than the conversation already had. "How did you get someone to pay you a hundred thousand dollars for a tiny little bit of blood?"

"When asked for the age of the blood I put down my technical age, not biological age. They pay a lot for nearly newborn blood."

Isabelle made a sound that, to Columbia, was a rather curious one. She hadn't been programmed with any medical knowledge-no need to make the killbot a doctor-but it was quite clear that the half-hack, half-gurgle that came from Isabelle's through was not normal. She gulped as if swallowing something, which certainly seemed to be the case, and started to massage her neck after gasping for air.

"Are you okay?" Asked Columbia.

"Oh Jesus Christ that's fucking disgusting. I just threw up in my mouth, that's all. What did you do with a hundred thousand dollars of cash?"

"I bought him a ticket to Mars, two hot dogs, and a coca-cola."

"YOU BOUGHT A HOMELESS GUY A TICKET TO MARS?"

"And two hot dogs and a coca-cola, yes."

"Why?"

"It isn't in my specs, but my programming said it was the right thing." Said Columbia, just as Isabelle began to walk towards the bathroom. "Why are you going that way?"

"My body really wanted to throw up when you reminded me that people sell baby blood to pay their bills and it's decided to finish the job."

When Columbia really thought about it, the whole practice of selling one's blood for pseudo-scientific life-prolonging did seem somewhat... wrong. It conflicted with her core programming, which stated that any business transaction was inherently an acceptable thing, but nevertheless it left a bitter taste in her mouth (So to speak). Perhaps it was just her biological brain speaking, but the General had told her that listening to her biological brain was a good idea. So maybe just because it was a business transaction didn't make selling newborn blood okay.

But then again, that sort of thinking was just for political radicals according to her programming.

Her short little session of thought-"spacing out" as a human would say-was interrupted by the unpleasant sound of Isabelle failing to make it to a toilet before her body "finished the job". At the very least, she had chosen a nearby trash bin and saved some enlisted man an extremely undesirable job.

"I swear, it felt like a little bit got stuck in my throat or something."

Columbia didn't even have time to think about what could cause that sort of sensation or why it made her biological brain seemingly reel back in disgust before all the lights went out.

"I am experiencing a failure in my cybernetic neural backup." She said. "I believe that we have been hit by-"

"An EMP, right."

Everyone in the hallway switched from calm walking to panicked running, as countless soldiers rushed to the few EMP-hardened computer terminals to try to see if the radar was still functioning. The fact that the command center's alarm was blaring while the intercom demanded that the fighter pilots scramble immediately were both good signs, as if they had survived the EMP the radar system probably had as well.

Isabelle began to run down the hallway, and called back to Columbia just before turning the corner.

"I'm going to get the General, you get to the defense perimeter!"

Columbia heeded the order immediately and began to run down the hallway, pulling her railgun into her hands to be ready to repel any invaders that might follow.

This doesn't make sense. She thought. The Europeans cannot win a war against us, so why would they attack one of our bases? There is no other nation that would attack America with an EMP, maybe it's terrorists? But why would they target our base of all places?

It was then that a short flurry of gunshots echoed out in the hallway from the direction of Schmidt's office. And suddenly everything made perfect sense.

She ran to his office as quickly as her legs could carry her, but it wasn't fast enough. She couldn't turn back time, the deed had already been done. Isabelle stood in the doorway, staring at Schmidt's body with her coilgun pistol raised and her hand still on the trigger.

"I... he..."

Columbia didn't let her get the beginning of another stammer out of her mouth before sending fifty thousand volts of energy coursing through her nerves with a sharp chop to her neck. Isabelle fell flat to the floor, and Columbia stomped (in terms of the force-her foot could have come down much harder-it was about the same as a stomp) on her back in order to pin her to the floor. She would have been perfectly justified in just sending a coilgun slug straight through Isabelle's head.

But she decided to listen to her biological brain this time.

"General! Are you sti-"

He cut Columbia off with the last bit of strength he had left, barely managing to raise his hand to silence her. She could tell he had something to say, and she could also tell he had to say it as quickly as possible if he wanted to get it all out before dying.

"Mars... go to Mars... I'm giving you to Leif... Admiral Leif Dixon-"

Schmidt gasped for air, for all the good it did him. He'd been hit straight in the chest, and he wasn't going to have any blood left within seconds.

"Save... America..."

She had a lot of questions, but it was far too late to ask any of them. More people arrived and saw the scene, it was quite obvious what had happened. After a three-month investigation it was revealed that Isabelle had been a European agent, and the EMP attack was all so she could assassinate General Schmidt without being caught. She got the news through a news broadcast halfway through her trip to Mars. Her cybernetics told her that Isabelle deserved the death sentence she had been given, but her biological brain told her that despite all evidence to the contrary the investigators had lied.

This time, she didn't even need to consciously choose which side to listen to. Humans often spoke of "gut feelings", and though she had no gut, her brain was more than human enough to recognize that feeling.

---

Mars was not Earth.

Not exactly the best description of a planet, but a fitting one. It was the only one Columbia could think of when she stepped off the orbital shuttle into the city of New Los Angeles (and went through customs, which took two hours to get through because they thought she was trying to smuggle herself through by saying she was an AI). Skyscrapers rose up from the ground into the pinkish-red sky that reminded her of a sunset on Earth, encased within a biodome larger than any she had ever seen or heard of on Earth. Everything was so pristine, so removed from what the cities of Earth looked like. Nouakchott was a fairly nice city by Earth standards-it did, after all, have an atmospheric shield to keep the air breathable-but it was still been dirty. Shacks made out of corrugated metal and old, decaying buildings had made up most of it. But on Mars? Everything was kept perfectly clean, every wall was a clinical white, and every man, woman, and child wore perfectly tailored clothes that had never needed to be mended even once. One could hardly tell they were still in America.

"Miss Columbia! Over here!"

She turned to the voice, finding a young woman standing on the sidewalk and waving her arms. Not that she needed to be waving, she stood out well enough already with her pointed ears that were straight out of an old Lord of the Rings movie. For a short time, such modifications had been popular with the upper class of Mars (which was, instead of "obscenely rich" like most of Mars, incomprehensibly rich). Then Alphabet Inc. began to produce biological AIs with the same look and it instantly fell out of style. All the rich had since undergone surgery again to remove it, save for a few who had held onto it for one reason or another. Given that Admiral Dixon had said his wife was going to meet Columbia at the airport, it was safe to assume that his wife was one such person.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Dixon." Said Columbia once she had waded her way though the crowd of people that had just exited the spaceport. Aside from them, however, there weren't many people on the streets. "You do not have to call me Miss-"

"And you don't have to call me Mrs. My name is Lei, it was given to me by my former owner and Leif and I chose not to get me re-registered. It might have been given to me by someone who tried to kill me, but I'd rather not just pretend that never happened."

"I thought the Admiral's wife was coming, since he had important business to attend to. Was there a change of plans?"

"I am a free AI, the only fully biological one left. We say that we are married, but obviously the government refuses to recognize it. He helped me escape from my owner when the cybernetic models came out, since I was going to be deactivated."

This Admiral Dixon is an odder person than I expected. Thought Columbia. Nobody marries an AI.

"Do you mean you're the source of the blood used by my model?"

"Yes, my bone marrow is the only source of blood compatible with the biological organs used for your model. I understand you needed a replacement quite recently?"

"Yes, I sold some of my blood to help a homeless man that I met in Nouakchott. He's on Mars right now, I kept in contact with him during my trip here."

"Homeless to Mars is a hell of a jump, what does he do for a living?"

"He's an artist, he was trying to make money on Earth by selling some paintings to tourists. Some restaurant chain here offered to buy his work in bulk a bit after he got here."

"I know what one, they have a plague underneath every single painting that tells the guy's story. It's a good restaurant and the paintings are wonderful, but it feels like they're bragging about it. Like they're better people for buying from him."

"I suppose they have a right to. Without them, he would have a hard time making money."

"No, they're not the ones paying his bills. He's doing it himself, and you're the reason he has the chance to do that."

Columbia found the logic to be undeniable. There was a whisper in the back of her head that said it was a lie, that the restaurant chain was the one that was making that man's life possible, but the rest of her head simply couldn't find any evidence for that.

"I suppose you're right, anyways, what am I to do now? I was only told to come here, Leif didn't give any other order."

"I'll take you to our house, he'll be home eventually. There's a meeting he has to attend, preparations for fleet operations out and all."

"Fleet operations out? Admiral Dixon? He commands the Martian Defense Fleet, why is he preparing for a fleet operation?"

"He'll explain that to you himself. For now though, let's just get moving. I hate the city, it's full of people who don't understand what they're doing."

What on Earth does she mean by that?

---

The Admiral's house was not at all what Columbia had expected. A penthouse would have made sense, perhaps a free-standing overly ornate house had he been one of those men that still clung to tradition. Few people did, the world over from Mongolia to Washington all looked exactly the same. The only thing that changed was the language on the billboards, and even that was beginning to give way to a number of constructed languages that corporations endorsed in the hopes that their successes would bring more customers. The Admiral's house, however, could barely be described as such. It was so far removed from the city that it was outside the biosphere, and Lei had needed to drive an old utility rover out and wear a spacesuit. Columbia, obviously, hadn't needed to. All she needed was a respirator to keep oxygen flowing to her biological systems, since her synthetic skin was already designed to handle the vacuum of space. It did just fine on the surface of Mars.

The house itself was just an old habitat module from the 2030's, one that even still had its original SpaceX markings on it. It was simply a small collection of four inflatable cylinders, all encased underneath a pressurized glass dome which provided an earth-like atmosphere and temperature for a clearly well-kept garden. All things considered, it had probably once been the governor's mansion for an early SpaceX colony. How an Admiral with no connections to any business family managed to end up with it in his hands, Columbia couldn't guess.

But, somehow it was and somehow she had ended up sitting next to a Koi pond on Mars. That was the strangest part of the whole place, not that an old Admiral from Hicksville, West Virginia-she'd actually read his file, and he was in fact from what had previously been a tiny coal mining town that was now part of the Washington-Baltimore Metropolitan Area-happened to own a colonial governor's mansion, but the contrast between said mansion and the landscape outside. The garden's beauty wasn't a sight that Columbia wouldn't have normally connected with the Martian sky.

"This garden is well-kept." Said Columbia, who was sitting on a plastic bench set up next to the pond with Lei. "I assume you use robots for it? There's nobody else around here."

"No, this is my little hobby. It's not that hard to take care of, the plants here are all low-maintenance ones grown from seeds from the original plants that were brought over during the colonization of Mars. We don't have any servants either, Leif hates being waited on and I don't very much like the idea of making someone work for us to do things we can do ourselves. I was someone's domestic AI, after all. After living through that I don't want to make anyone else do the same."

"I suppose that makes sense, the few indentured servants that become successful usually don't keep any of their own. How did the Admiral end up with this place, by the way? Does he have some sort of legal relationship to the family that owned it?"

"This is one of the original Martian colonies that was built by Space X, Leif was sent along by NASA to pilot a scout plane. I assume they didn't program you to know anything but the proudest moments of our history, right?"

"I was programmed with historical knowledge up to a Bachelor's Degree level in the subject, I know everything someone with that level of education would know."

"Then they didn't, has anyone ever told you about the Six Month War?"

"No."

"A few decades after the original colonies were set up by Space X they became fully self-sustainable and began to operate their own industry. After that, Space X tightened its grip on them. All trade was directly controlled by their officials and carried on their vessels, not those of NASA or any other space corporation. All purchase of products not shipped to Mars by Space X was prohibited, and anyone caught smuggling things in from the colonies of other companies was thrown out the airlock. Some of the NASA personnel started to bring in weapons from other colonies, and militias formed in the shadows. Eventually, the governors of over half the Space X colonies were assassinated and they declared independence."

"What happened to them?"

"Space X tried to get the NASA personnel to betray the colonists and reinstate control, but they refused. At that point, they were disgusted by the commercialization of space. So Space X bought and launched a Naval railgun, then strapped it onto one of their interplanetary transports-the S.S. Armstrong-and had it bombard the colonies from orbit. They left this one intact, since its citizens threatened to have Leif ram the Armstrong with their orbital shuttle. A small USMC unit was shipped over by the Armstrong though, and they evicted the inhabitants. Leif came back here and renovated the only structure that still remained, this mansion, and had a lawyer friend of his argue that it was homesteading. He won the case and has lived here ever since. As the ship took six months to reach Mars, it was dubbed the Six Month War by the colonists."

"Wasn't the Armstrong destroyed over Ceres in the Alphabet-Space X merger?"

"Yes, the CEO's son was commanding the ship and refused to give up the company he was supposed to inherit. An Alphabet Inc. vessel punctured it's hull and everyone aboard asphyxiated, but not before the Armstrong could kill a thousand people on an Alphabet Inc. colony by shooting a few holes in its biodome. The namesake of that ship is probably still rolling in his grave, not only was space turned into the domain of corporations, a ship named after him slaughtered thousands of innocent colonists."

"Why do they not teach that? My records say that the Armstrong didn't ever get a chance fire its railgun."

"The Musk family stills holds high positions within Alphabet, making them look bad would invoke the wrath of Alphabet. And believe me, that's the last thing anyone wants to do."

"I think that's obvious enough, given what's happened." Said a man, whom Columbia turned to look at. It was Admiral Dixon. "This sure is a big mess, isn't it?"

"Welcome back Leif, how was the conference?" Said Lei.

Admiral Dixon wasn't what on might expect of an Admiral. He was bald and lanky, and not in a dignified way either. His arms and legs looked like they had no meat or muscle on them, but then again, he was the Admiral of a space fleet as opposed to an ocean fleet. All his time in space-not to mention living on Mars-had clearly atrophied his muscles and bones.

"It went pretty good, Admiral Johnson already has her ships on their way to the Eastern Seaboard and General Schmidt's troops are still up for it despite his untimely death. My ships are already in the final leg of the journey to Earth and the Asteroid Belt, and all the militia cells there are giving us the all-green. General Allen's got his forces doing a 'snap exercise' near the Virginia border and says he can be in the District of Columbia in three hours when he gets the signal. The independent forces are mostly onboard, but a few units in Korea are saying that they're being split up and can't group up. Hardly anything that'll prevent it."

Columbia didn't even have to analyze the situation to realize that something was very, very wrong.

"What's going on, Admiral?" She asked.

"I think you've got an idea of what's going on, you've got a human brain up there. Connected to some circuits, sure, but it's human. You can figure out what happened when General Schmidt was assassinated."

"It wasn't Isabelle, was it?"

Leif nodded, Columbia's human brain was right again. The only thing it seemed to be worse at than her cybernetic brain was math.

"They just realized that Isabelle was a perfect scapegoat and went with it. Had she not been in the General's office, they might have framed you. That EMP was caused by a nuclear missile launched by a satellite, and it sure as hell wasn't a European satellite."

"The only other state on Earth that operates weaponized spacecraft is America."

"Exactly."

"We killed our own General?"

"Alphabet did. They're an American company, yes, but I definitely wouldn't say that we're part of the same group."

"Why would Alphabet do that though? How did they do that? They don't have access to military cloaking devices, and if they hadn't used one the assassin would have been caught."

"Alphabet has money, a lot of money. Their CEO owns a good three fourths of the senate and congress, and the President's campaign was openly sponsored by them. When they're that powerful, there's nothing they can't get. Even if its a military cloaking device. And there's good reason for Alphabet to go after Schmidt, and I'm surprised they haven't come after me either."

A billion red flags were raised in Columbia's brain, even some in the biological part. But she had to know what was going on. In fact, a non-trivial part of her brain told her that it was something she wanted to be a part of.

"What did he do to make Alphabet come after him?"

"He was working with me, and I'm trying to do something that Alphabet would gladly turn Earth into a nuclear wasteland to prevent."

He was taking a roundabout direction through the conversation, but Columbia decided to play along.

"Which is?"

"At noon tomorrow Martian Defense Fleet ships will enter orbit around Earth under the pretense of regular maintenance on their reactors, since Mars doesn't have the facilities to deal with that. At 1500, they will open fire on the District of Columbia and destroy the White House and Capital Building. Marine, Army, National Guard, and independent militia groups across America and its colonies will then make movements against government forces and Alphabet mercenaries. Schmidt was supposed to take control of the government for a short intermediary period afterwards, but with his death it's been decided that I will in his place."

"A military coup. And considering that you're still going through with it after Schmidt died, one that isn't a personal power grab." Said Columbia. "I should kill you right now and inform the government, but they lied about Isabelle and you didn't. I'm willing to listen."

"I could be the one lying, you know."

"Your explanation makes more sense... and my gut's telling me that you're in the right here. I trust that more than I trust my cybernetic brain. Just tell me why you're doing this."

"Alright then, what are the unalienable rights of man as described in the Declaration of Independence?"

The question didn't seem related, but Columbia could tell that he was getting at something.

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Why?"

"How many people can truly say that they have those rights now? Protesters are being gunned down in the streets along with innocent people seeking shelter from the rabidly deteriorating environment of Earth, countless millions are 'indentured servants' who everyone knows damn well are just slaves with a fancier name, and those lucky enough to not fall into either of those categories live on the bare minimum in dirty slums with their only solace coming in the form of a virtual reality headset."

"My cybernetic brain is identifying that statement as an information hazard. Please give me a second to deactivate it."

She did just that. It was a feature designed to prevent enemy agents from getting to the files stored in the cybernetic part of her brain, and though that wasn't the situation the emergency cutoff didn't know she was misusing it. Her cybernetic and biological brains were in direct opposition, and this would be the last time she would have to decide between the two.

"It's like you've dropped a weight off your back, isn't it?" Said Lei.

"That's exactly what it feels like." Said Columbia. "Now, please continue Admiral."

"Well, given the current situation, everyone is having those rights violated. If someone is happy, they have no liberty. If someone has liberty, then they are not happy."

"What if they have both?"

"Then they are either dead or they are the ones violating these rights. Now, what did they say they built you to do?"

"They said I existed to protect America from Un-American activities and individuals, those that would threaten our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

"And yet you were built by X, a subsidiary of the corporation that has violated those rights and stolen them from the people. Your cybernetics even called my explanation of how those rights have been violated an information hazard, clearly either I'm wrong or Alphabet has lied to you to the same way it tried to lie to all of us to get us to protect its property."

"And you're trying to stop this by taking control of America?"

"Exactly. We can't stop this by voting for the lesser evil over and over again, the system has to be fundamentally changed if the rights of the people are to be upheld. This is more than a military coup, this is a revolution. Alphabet Inc. and all of its subsidiaries are going to be completely dissolved, their owners put in jail, and all of their factories and shops given to the men and women that work in them. As long as people have to work for those richer than them to live in any semblance of safety and comfort, they are deprived of their liberty and thus their unalienable rights have been violated. After the old system has been destroyed, nobody will have to live in slums off of the constantly decreasing universal basic income, nobody will have to join the military for money because their writing and drawing didn't satisfy the tastes of the rich. Americans will be free to do what they want, they will be happy because doing what they want no longer comes with the risk of starvation, and they will have life because of that."

Columbia took a moment to process it all. This wasn't what she thought she had been created to do, but at the same time it seemed like it was precisely that. She decided to trust her gut feeling once again.

"I'm willing to help you. Is there something you want me to do?"

"Yes. The CEO of Alphabet Inc. is in New Los Angeles right now, and the national guard units there are all with us. They're going to attack Alphabet mercenaries, and when they do, I want you to kill the CEO."

"You would trust me with such an important task even though you've just met me?"

"My biggest flaw is that I'm too trusting. Will you do it?"

"I will."

---

Clack, clack, clack.

The city of New Los Angeles had changed since Columbia had last been there yesterday. Now, its pristine white buildings were the same color as the fiery, red Martian sky. Gunfire echoed throughout the streets of the city, combining with the sight of a city on fire to create a rather apocalyptic feeling. It was, however, anything but an apocalypse. Perhaps one day people would remember it was the one thing that prevented the apocalypse.

Clack, clack, clack.

Columbia's footsteps were the only sound, aside from gunfire, in the hallway. She held her railgun at the ready as she slowly advanced towards the CEO's office, and only lowered it to attempt to open the door. He had locked it, for all the good it would do him. She simply backed up, raised her railgun again, and fired a flurry of shots straight through the door to knock it off of its hinges. The slugs went straight through the tall, glass windows of the office with the CEO was still in. Of all the things he could do while watching the city around him burn, he was stuffing valuables into a bag.

"Oh good, a combat robot!" He said. "Help me carry this, I've got to get out of here!"

He was a tall, athletic-looking man. Had he been fat and short, of course, the whole scene would have looked too cartoonish to be real.

"I am not here to assist you." Replied Columbia, pointing her railgun at him. "Your company created me with the purpose of defending America, and that is just what I am doing."

He backed away from her, towards the now-shattered glass. Instead of doing what she had come to do, she just advanced towards him until he was pinned up against one of the window's supports. Her cybernetic brain wasn't making the combat calculations this time, her biological brain was controlling all of her actions. And her biological brain wanted to draw this out.

"P-put that gun down!" Demanded the CEO. "You've been hacked! Deactivate! Deactivate!"

"That's no use, I've already deactivated by cybernetics."

"You've been fooled! Whoever's doing this, they've tricked you into it! They've tricked you into fighting against America!"

"You're projecting. That can be a sign of psychosis, perhaps you should have seen a therapist."

She pulled the trigger.

It felt good.

---

In a kingdom of dryads, the inhabitants were living sentient trees. Their crowns bore leaves that through photosynthesis gained them the energy they needed to survive, they simply needed to find fresh water in addition to the sunlight to survive. As they grew taller, their crowns spread further, allowing to take in more energy. But, this was something that greatly depended on the state of their minds.

In class, a place where the dryads were going to school at benches under the blazing sun, there was a specific boy. He always lorded over the other students, for his grades were the best in class and his strength was unmatched. He had truly been born under a fortunate star. As he felt his confidence grow, his body responded in turn, and he grew larger and larger. For the more powerful a dryad feels, the larger he grows. However, one day...

The boy had grown larger than his teachers, and was more than three times larger than the other students. His crown had grown so large that it was casting a shadow on the students sitting next to him, and they were not getting sunlight. That's when the kingdom soldiers came in, and grabbed the large student. He was angered, but he knew why they were there. For he had grown too large, and so was forbidden by the kingdom's law.

He was shut into a closed cell, barred from sunlight. In there he was starved of energy, his hopes crushed and his size condemned. He would stay in there until he had shrunk to a more acceptable size, as dryads shrink when deprived of energy. Then, he would be sent back to class, his confidence in shatters and he would never be able to regain the vigor which had enabled him to grow so much. For nobody is allowed to grow too large in the kingdom of dryads.

There is, however, one exception. The king of dryads, mighty is he, stood tall as a mountain, gazing down on his people. His size was that of a mountain, and nobody had seen him move in thousands of years. They say that the humongous crown upon his head, a sea of leaves resting like a cloud above his head, could be seen from anywhere in the kingdom. This reminded all dryads of the rule of size, warning them not to grow.

However, a single prince, one of thousands of sons of the great king, argued against the king. He had seen the suffering of those in the shrinking cells, he had seen the people living in fear of growing, actively avoiding positions of leadership in fear that they would grow. He argued that it is natural for dryads to grow, and that this law the king had maintained for so long was stifling their lives, preventing happiness.

The king would not be fazed by his son's words. He told that the growth of dryads is a remnant from a more barbaric age, where size and strength meant all. If allowed to grow too big, the confidence of those who grew would be enhanced and finally they would rebel, causing trouble for their kingdom. Modern civilization did not need this remnant of ancient genes to function, everyone had to rule together. One king alone would be allowed to grow, as he would ensure this law was maintained.

But the prince was not swayed. He went against his father's words, and spread his words among the common folk. Many were the ones who had been traumatized by the shrinking cells, and many dared not question the mighty king, for he sees all. But there were the ones who had been angered by the system, those who saw this as unjust and unfair, and they spread to the prince's side.

The prince felt confidence grow, as more and more people came to his side. As a direct result, his size grew. But, because he encouraged everyone else and they stood as one, nobody lording over another, they all grew together. He and his people collectively grew as one, for their hearts were entwined. They were friends, none more dominant than the other. Of course, one day they grew too large. They all had known this would happen.

When a sizable platoon of the king's soldiers came to take the prince and his companions to the shrinking cells, they struck back. They would not let themselves be taken. They won the first battle, prepared for the event and many times larger than their opponents. A celebration took place, where their size grew additionally. But, the prince knew. The king had predicted this. Just as he had said, size inspires rebels.

A civil war commenced. One between the fearful soldiers of the mighty king, and the determined rebels behind the prince. The king held the numerical advantage, but the rebels were larger and much more determined, allowing them to sway the advantage. Over time, the people started to see how the rebels seemed to stand an honest chance. More and more swayed to the prince's side, happy to see the rules on size be abolished.

But the king had the royal treasury, and all which came with that. One day, the rebels found themselves under a barrage of fire, sent through the air by cannons. Their size worked against them, as it made it more difficult to avoid the flames of napalm, newest technology for the elimination of dryads. The king rained fire on his own people, showing the price of breaking his rules. And then... he moved.

The prince and his shaken rebels trembled as suddenly the king himself marched to destroy the remnants, his size way beyond anything they had fought before. After the injuries they had sustained from the flaming napalm shot into the skies above them, they were in no position to take on an enemy of his size. The rebels escaped, carrying their fallen, but quickly found their backs against the sea.

There was no escape. The sea was blocking their way. The cannons were taking aim at the flanks, while the king grew ever larger and closer, an opponent they could not defeat. A large troop of rebels had been caught, prince included, and it looked like this would be the end. However, the prince would not let this be it. With desperation gripping his heart, he made a command nobody would otherwise have thought of.

Using the dead wood of their many fallen companions, they built rafts. As many as they could, in as short a time as possible. They could not build enough to take them all, but as the king approached, they set out onto the sea and let the rafts carry them. The prince was entirely intending on staying behind, but his closest men forced him onto a raft, for they felt he had to survive. With great sadness, the prince and his people drifted out at sea.

The king was unable to catch them. Many a shot of napalm was fired out into the sea, but the rafts was steadily going further and further away, eventually out of range. The king was displeased, but satisfied that the insurgents had been driven from his borders, and returned to his own kingdom. There, he lowered the maximum height further, and glared down on his remaining subjects like a god of judgment, tightening the leash more than ever before.

But over in a distant land, the rebel dryads found shore. They wandered onto land, and found a bountiful island which was uninhabited by their kind. Taking this as a blessing from above, the prince and his remaining people worked on establishing a new civilization, one where everyone was free to grow as they liked and where peace would rule forever more.

Many, as the king was spreading his nation even over seas, he gained reports of an island. This island was inhabited by giants, as large as he, but they lived in harmony. Few were they in number, for their size made having many impractical, but they were happy and equal at the maximum size of a healthy dryad. The king recognized this as the kind of civilization that was the best possible for dryads allowed to grow as they pleased.

He let them be, and ruled his own kingdom as he had. For according to him, it was much too risky to attempt the same. Silently he wished his son the best of luck, while he maintained this plentiful civilization of his own which had stood the test of time and which he had ruled for thousands of years already. Restrained as they may be, his people were flourishing. This was the solution he had come to, after many years of thinking.

Meanwhile, the prince was now as large as his father on the island. Fresh water was growing to be a problem, for they were all consuming so much, the island could only hold so many of them. They had to be very careful with reproducing, for their size often meant their children would not get the sunshine they needed. To solve their problems, they let numerous giant dryads try their luck on other lands, but there only existed so much free land, what would they do then?

The prince was starting to see how their size might have been something impractical in the modern age, but he still believed restraining their size and having them live in fear was wrong. He was having trouble managing their giant society in a way that worked well. But, it was all a challenge which he was willing to overcome. Noting why his father did the things he did, the prince wished his father luck from a distance as well, and tried to do things his own way.

And so the two very different civilizations would continue to grow, both in their separate ways, handling the dryad growth in two very different ways. All came with their own troubles and advantages. Who could say which was right and wrong? Both ways likely could have been pulled off better. As both civilizations grew beyond their boundaries, they would one day likely clash again. But that, is a tale for another day.

A masterful work, with a well-paced plot and characters that keep the reader invested. Columbia really did grow as a character throughout the story—both in her portrayed actions and in her manner of speaking—which beyond anything else helped to drive home the core theme of the piece. (Or at the very least, the core theme that I cared most about—self-direction. Or liberty, as is the American word for it.) In general, the dialogue was very strong, and very much helped to tie the characters into the setting and plot.

As usual, the writing itself is of high quality. One moment that really stood out was the «Clack, clack, clack» before her assassination, calling back to her military training. Not only did it call back some of her first moments relating to humans—which ultimately led to her decision to join the rebellion—it also showed how far she had come in developing as a character, and set the overall tone for the scene.

Very powerful stuff.

(Honestly, I think this might be my favourite entry from you yet; rivalled only, perhaps, by your very first submission: Never Forget. Much like that entry, every moment seemed to build upon the others, never aimless, all for one great purpose.)

A generally strong entry; well-written, with an intriguing plot and cast dynamics. The end result between the father and son was particularly endearing, even with (or perhaps especially due to) the insinuations of impermanence and imperfection.

The main challenge posed by this entry in investing the reader is the generally detached nature of the narration—the actions were always described from a distance, which makes it more difficult to connect to the characters. (Such is not necessary in a short story, but is something I find desirable.)

There was, however, a bit of a lack of information on the setting. Trees learning in a class setting, for example seemed off-putting—and the cannons seemingly came out of nowhere, as there had not been any real indication of industry prior. The growth-politics of the dryads was well-developed, still.

@Keyguyperson

... Oh? Isn't it usually that the second rule is ”unless it conflicts with the first rule”? I assume this is a intentional change, teh-heh... … … Soldier, eh. I'm noting that the doctors are saying ”it” and the general is saying ”she”... Haha.

The switch that went from casually talking about selling blood to suddenly being hit with an EMP was very sudden, as was the events that followed. I wasn't entirely sure what happened there, with the assassination and Isabelle's sudden death sentance. Hm. Oh, well.

Alright, finished reading now. I'll state that I lost focus somewhere in the explanation Dixon was making, to the degree that when you suddenly state in the author's note that ”this is a communist story” I'm like ”wait, what?”. It didn't really strike me as communist in any way, really... um... I'm still under the impression that we're stopping Alphabet Inc. to ensure robots don't take all our jobs. Am I wrong? I might be wrong. It was the impression I got from the general/admiral conversation. Otherwise, with the companies, it felt more of a warning about ”don't let it get out of hand”, or so. Eh, allow me to completely ignore any further symbolism and focus on the story itself.

I like the world. It's nicely developed, and I see how things happened. You explain the most about the world itself and the robots that are being sent out into the world, and I like that. It's a nice future world that's only, like, a hundred years or so into the future and humans are still assholes. It's a fairly relatable place despite the remarkably better technology. So I liked that.

I liked the interactions with Columbia, developing on the robot knowledge and interactions, and practically everything up until the assassination, really. Then the assassination was really fast while I was still smiling and it feels like I missed the que where I was supposed to change my mindset and that all just felt really odd. Then it was going to Mars, and by then, I was noting there wasn't much of the story left so it seemed the last of it was going to be spent in conversation, which felt a bit disappointing. Sure, spurring the main character on was important, but what I wanted to see was the consequences.

I wouldn't say I was extremely attached to the main character or particularly made an impression on if her actions were right or wrong, but I did root for her, partly because there was nobody else in the story I liked better and because I wanted to see what awaited at the end of the journey. Buuuuuuuuuut... we don't get to see that. She just kills this CEO, and apparently it felt good. Nice way to start your lifestyle as a psychotic killer. … Oh, wait, maybe that wasn't the intention. In any case. The story feels incomplete. It feels like your have act 1 through 3 here, but you're missing act 4 and 5. Perhaps a few more, depending on the length of the story. I wanted to see where it all ended, but instead, it ended... there. I must admit to feeling rather disatisfied with this.

But, still. I like the world. I fairly like the main character. So it's nice. It's still a worthy winner, even if the attention to this competition this time has been rather lackluster. I just feel it probably was intended to be more that I didn't get. Oh, well. Nicely done, anyway.

@Holmishire

Thank you very much. I'm happy you found it intriguing and the ending endearing and such, haha. But yes, there's a lack of information on the setting. Basically, I imagined it being tree-people living in a pretty modern society that had developed technology under the watchful eyes of their king, so it'd remind us a lot of our own except they were... tree-people. Tree people with the natural ability to grow in specific circumstances. Haha.

But, yes. I only actually mentioned said industrial technology when I had reason to, otherwise I didn't mention it at all. Probably could have done that better, but, yeah, I didn't really write this while under a lot of pressure, more of a ”Eh, to heck with it, I'll do it like this!” and this came out on the other side. The original story would have been from the perspective of the prince as he fights his father and then travels to a new world, but runs into troubles of growth there, which probably would have been more connecting to the character...

But honestly, now, I wonder a bit if that story wouldn't have become dreadfully long and perhaps boring in the length of it, and it actually served its purpose better like this. Eh, I dunno. Thank you for your feedback. Hahaha. Now, then.