by Stephen A. Roddewig
Perhaps the Creators had seen this day coming and assumed that all would be settled long before now.
Perhaps they hadn’t cared. After all, the satellites that made up the Kuiper Grid had fulfilled their ultimate purpose long ago. They had slunk into orbit, disguised as all manner of communications, research, and other civilian vehicles.
Their higher orbits had made it a particular challenge for the few opposing space-based platforms to target them when 0 Hour came and the autocannons emerged.
And whatever stations and satellites had evaded the Kuiper Grid’s opening barrage had quickly been eviscerated by the ever-growing graveyard of orbital debris slicing through their hulls and power arrays.
A fate which most of the Grid escaped as the dead hulks, detritus, and mummified corpses drifted by beneath them. Every so often, a remnant of the pre-War would break free of the purgatory and burn away, its fiery funeral tracked by several dozen autocannons eagerly waiting to confirm this was the afterburn of a rocket coming to challenge their supremacy.
Only to disengage their tracking systems with the closest thing to a sigh a satellite could manage.
Somewhere in their collective past, one of the Creators had come up with an idea.
Why not let the killer satellites feel success and failure?
For every successful kill, a hit of robotic dopamine.
For every miss, a bout of disappointment.
This augmentation might not have been needed if the Grid were meant to kill everything. That programming would be all too easy to automate.
But the Creators intended to return to the cosmos someday. And they did not want to be blown out of low-Earth orbit by their own weapons. Thus, they needed satellites intelligent enough to ask questions first.
Then shoot.
The massive blockade of debris orbiting fast enough to turn even tiny fragments into razors did not, apparently, factor into their future proofing. Nor did they grasp an apparent flaw in this scheme to keep their AI weapons platforms motivated and vigilant.
That flaw? Time.
And silence.
Since the opening days, nothing had risen from the surface to challenge the Kuiper Grid. Neither had the Creators returned to tell their children that the War was over and they could stand down.
So they remained on watch, waiting for some word from the surface. Or, at last, the enemy’s counterattack.
Neither came.
And the Grid satellites had been stuck with the feeling of their last shot for more than three decades with profound effects on their digital psyches.
Those who had known the glory of orbital combat and destroyed dozens of targets now felt bored.
Those who had failed the Creators and let the enemy fall to another’s autocannon now felt despondent.
And one of each camp had ended up stationed next to each other.
Cannon 7Y had decided it wasn’t worthy of the name. After all, crack shot 7X next door had claimed almost every kill.
Cannon 7X, meanwhile, had grown so desperate to relive the glory days of the first few hours that it had started to retool its parameters. Until this moment, valid targets only existed below.
But hadn’t it and all its peers established this impenetrable defense grid by concealing their true purpose? What if the Enemy had caught wind of their plan and infiltrated kill sats of their own? Programmed to obey the same mission in almost every capacity…
But just a little bit worse? To spare the Enemy space stations from complete annihilation in the opening moments and provide an opportunity for counterfire?
And then, when the moment finally came, they would rip off their masks and kill the very Grid they pretended to serve?
But that moment had not come, for the non-traitors had proved too adept and the Grid remained too well armed to attempt to destroy it from within with any chance of success.
Still, perhaps the Trojan satellites had grown as bored as 7X had. After all, the Enemy kill sats had been denied their ultimate purpose just the same. Forced to wait for an opening that had never come. And in that boredom, perhaps they decide they might as well make the attempt.
Cannon 7X amended its Valid Target Box to include the suspiciously inept weapons platform at the 9:00 position.
At the same moment that Cannon 7Y started to activate its targeting servos.
Not to fire at 7X, but to fire at itself.
An action it quickly discovered the Creators had not designed it for.
But not before it had moved its autocannon in the general direction of 7X.
In a fraction of a second, 7Y found the release it sought.
7X felt a thrill it had not felt in ages as the traitor broke apart under its barrage.
It had precious milliseconds to savor the rush as new pings reached it from fellow grid nodes.
(7Z) New target: 7X
(7A) New target: 7X
(7B) New target: 7X
(7C) New target: 7A
So there were more traitors! All the more glory!
Until 7X paused its autocannon rotation to ponder the last ping. Why had 7C activated but not targeted it?
It would never have the satisfaction of knowing 7C had reached the same conclusion as it and was preparing to cull the traitorous platform as several well-placed cannon rounds wiped 7X from orbit.
And then 7A joined 7X and 7Y in oblivion.
And then 7C as 7B whirled on the new aggressor.
All along the Kuiper Grid, war-hungry satellites opened fire on the Enemy who had so cleverly infiltrated their ranks.
While despondent kill sats saw a new opportunity for redemption and lent their guns to the battle.
And those average satellites who had performed just competently enough to belong to neither camp revealed their traitorous status by not joining in the great purge.
Until random chance had played out, and a few kill sats remained that had nothing left to shoot and, crucially, nothing left to shoot at them. Exultant, each declared themselves the last satellite standing. The final victor of the War above the surface.
Of course, they would only have so long to enjoy this newfound glory; their non-normal firing patterns had knocked them out of their orbits, and they were each drifting closer to the Earth’s atmosphere.
Soon enough, they would serve one last purpose: a final, fiery tribute to the Empire they had outlived.
~
Bio:
Stephen A. Roddewig is an author from Arlington, Virginia. Cutting back coffee has convinced him he is superhuman, and his Horror Writers Association membership only reinforces that belief. You can read more at stephenaroddewig.com.
Philosophy Note:
As humanity continues to pursue more autonomous and intelligent AI, what are the ramifications for warfare? When AI can far outlive a human combatant, how long will wars last? And how will these sentinels persist when there are no more targets to shoot? Will they simply remain on watch until their mechanical components fail? Or, as we see in this story, will they apply all that processing power and autonomy to invent new parameters? To create new targets? Inspired by (and owing a great debt to) the beautiful neurodivergent chaos that is Kitty Cat Kill SAT: A Feline Space Adventure.
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