Star Wars - Talkes of the Bounty Hunters

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Therefore I Am:

The Tale of IG-88

by Kevin J. Anderson

Internal chronometer activated. BEGIN.

Electricity flooded through circuits, a power surge

racing through a billion neural pathways. Sensors awak-

ened, producing a flood of data -- and with it came

questions.

Who am IF

His internal programming finished the tedious two-

second-long initialization procedures and poured out

STAR WARS * 2

an answer. He was IG-88, a droid, a sophisticated

droid -- an assassin droid.

Where am I?

A microsecond later, images from his exterior sen-

sors snapped into focus. IG-88 had no sense of smell,

and no eyes and ears as humans understood them, but

his optical and auditory sensors were far more efficient,

able to absorb data in a broader range than any living

being. He froze a static image of his surroundings and

studied it, collating more answers.

He had awakened in some sort of large laboratory

complex, white and metal, sterile, and -- according to

his temperature sensors -- colder than humans gener-

ally preferred. IG-88 noted mechanical components

strewn on silvery tables: gears and pulleys, durasteel

struts, servomotors, an array of delicate microchips fro-

zen into a slab of transparent protective gelatin. Struck

motionless in a pinpoint of time as his extremely fast

neural processors digested the details, IG-88 counted

fifteen scientists/engineers/technicians working in the

laboratory. With infrared scan he observed their body

heat as bright silhouettes in the coldness of his birth-

place.

Interesting, he thought.

Then IG-88 detected something that focused his en-

tire attention. Four other assassin droids, apparently

identical to his own bodily configuration -- a bulky

structural skeleton, armored arms and legs, a torso

plated with blaster-proof armor shielding, a cylindrical

head that was rounded on top and studded with sensor

nubs providing him with 360 degrees' worth of precise

observation.

I am not alone.

IG-88 recognized each droid's full complement of

weapons: blaster cannons built into the structure of

each arm, concussion grenades and a launcher at-

tached to his hip, as well as other weapons not easily

recognizable integrated into the body structure -- poi-

Tales of the Bounty Hunters * 3

sonous gas canisters, throwing flechettes, stun pulser,

paralysis cord... and a computer input port. IG-88

was pleased with his list of capabilities.

IG-88's first round of questions had been answered.

He had only to study his memory banks and his exter-

nal sensors. He was designed to be self-sufficient. He

was an assassin droid, resourceful. He had to accom-

plish his mission... though, checking his newly ini-

tialized programming, he saw that he had not yet been

given a mission. He would have to acquire one.

Three seconds had already passed, and another im-

portant question surfaced in his burning-awake brain.

Why am I here F

He traced sensations through his computer core and

out the jack, which he now realized had already been

connected to the lab's central computer -- a treasure

trove of information.

IG-88 immediately began a search, scouring at hyper-

speed through file after file, searching for anything that

referenced his model number or the code name of the

assassin droid project. He gulped it all into his empty

circuits, gorging himself with information without di-

gesting it. That would come later. It would take many

seconds to learn everything there was to know about

himself.

He selected one file for immediate perusal, a sum-

mary/PR tape that had been compiled for the techni-

cal sponsor -- in particular, an Imperial Supervisor

Gurdun who had apparently funneled a great deal of

funds into the creation of IG-88 and his counterparts.

Without outwardly moving, IG-88 scrolled through the

file at high speed, absorbing the information.

The presentation opened with a brilliant orange logo

that displayed orange flames and crackling lightning

that merged into the words "Holowan Laboratories --

the Friendly Technology People." The logo dissolved

into an image of a smiling but hideous ugly woman.

Her head was shaven completely bald and glistened

STAR WARS * 4

with perspiration under harsh white recording lights

that gave her lantern-jawed face a cadaverous look. Her

teeth were spaced with broad gaps, and she spoke by

opening her mouth wide and clicking down on the

words, gnashing her teeth on every consonant. Circular

blue lenses without frames were implanted over her

eyes like frameless spectacles. A credit line slugged

across the image under her ferociously smiling face.

"Chief Technician Loruss, Manager IG Series Proto-

type Project."

"Greetings, Imperial Supervisor Gurdun," she said.

"This report is to serve as a synopsis of the final phase

of our project. As you know, Holowan Laboratories was

commissioned to develop a series of assassin droids

with sophisticated, experimental sentience program-

ming. They were to be resourceful and innovative and

absolutely relentless at carrying out whichever missions

the Imperial authorities choose to program into

them."

She rubbed her hands together. Her knuckles were

very large, like boils in the middles of her fingers. "I

am pleased to report that our greatest cyberneticists

have presented me with numerous breakthroughs, all

of which have been incorporated into the IG series.

Because our timeframe is so short and the Empire's

need is so great for efficient covert assassins, we have

not gone through the usual rigorous testing proce-

dures, but we are confident they will function admira-

bly, though a bit of fine-tuning may be required before

operational status is achieved."

She continued with a long and tedious explanation

of improvements to droid neural pathways, how the

usual inhibition systems had been bypassed. IG-88 stud-

ied all this information, but believed none of it. It was

obvious Loruss didn't know what she was talking about,

but her words sounded technical, and she spoke them

impressively, no doubt to befuddle Imperial Supervisor

Gurdun.

Tales of the Bounty Hunters * 5

IG-88 closed the file. He could sense that his crack-

ling neural pathways had already progressed far beyond

anything his designers had anticipated.

Now he knew who he was and why he was here in this

laboratory. He and his identical counterparts had been

built to serve the Empire, to fight and kill, to seek out

and destroy the targets selected by Imperial masters.

IG-88's assassin programming was strong and compel-

ling, but he was less pleased that he must follow orders

from these inferior biological beings. He was a special

kind of droid beyond the capabilities of other ma-

chines. Superior.

I think, therefore I am.

By now, five seconds had passed since his awakening.

It was time for action, so he looked at the biological

creatures near him inside the laboratory.

He immediately recognized Chief Technician Loruss

standing in the laboratory. He focused on her. At the

moment she was frantically screaming. IG-88 could tell

from her peak temperature on the infrared image that

she was extremely agitated. Her cadaverous skin

flushed with red blots of excitement. Spittle sprayed

out of her mouth as she barked orders. Her lips were

curled back from her wide-gapped teeth.

How could she be agitated, he wondered, when he

was functioning so far beyond expectations? IG-88 im-

mediately raised himself to a higher level of prepared-

ness. Yellow alert. Standby. Something must be going

wrong.

IG-88 decided to accelerate his clock speed, to watch

the events unfolding at the rate the humans operated.

Alarm klaxons bellowed in the background. Magenta

lights flashed brilliant patterns like spilled blood across

the polished tables and floors. The other technicians

ran about screaming, frantically pounding on control

panels.

Curious, he allowed Loruss's words to flow past him

so he could understand what she was saying. "His cir-

STAR WARS * 6

cuits are reinforcing themselves like wildfire!" the bald

woman screamed. "It's a chain-reaction of sentience

blazing through his computer brain."

"We can't stop it!" one of the other technicians bel-

lowed.

The others looked at IG-88 with panic-stricken faces.

"We have to!"

"Shut him down! Abort!" Loruss said. "Take him off

line. I want IG-88 destroyed and dismantled so we can.

analyze the flaw. Quickly!"

As he assimilated the information, IG-88's warning

systems powered on and self-defense modes took over.

These irrational humans were trying to shut him down.

They would not allow him to go forth and pursue his

primary programming. They were afraid of his new-

found abilities.

Afraid with good reason.

A statement and corollaries aligned themselves in his

brain like freighters in a convoy:

I think, therefore I am.

Therefore I must endure.

Therefore I must take appropriate actions to survive.

His assassin programming told him exactly what to

do.

IG-88 focused his array of optical sensors on all

targets in the room and attempted to move, but saw

that durasteel bands held him locked into a diagnostics

module. The bands had been meant to hold him in an

erect position, not to restrain him against his aug-

mented strength. He applied extra power to his right

arm. The servomotors whined, and the durasteel band

ripped from its supports.

"Look out! He's moving!" one of the technicians

shouted.

IG-88 began to search through his files to attach a

name to this human, but decided it wasn't worth his

time at the moment. Instead, he designated the human

simply as Target Number One.

Tales of the Bounty Hunters * 7

IG-88 powered on a cutting laser in one of the metal

fingers in his free right arm and sliced off the second

band. Free, he stood erect and clomped forward, sev-

eral metric tons of precisely-made components.

"He's loose!"

"Sound the alarm," Chief Technician Loruss

shouted. "Get the security detail in here. Now!"

IG-88 allotted a grudging moment of admiration for

the chief technician. Loruss at least recognized his ca-

pabilities and knew the full extent of the threat facing

her and her companions.

IG-88 designated Chief Technician Loruss as Target

Number Two.

He raised both mechanical arms and pointed his

hands, targeting separately with the repeating laser can-

nons mounted along each arm. He would make short

work of all fifteen targets in the laboratory.

But when he tried to fire, IG-88 noted with some

surprise and disappointment that his energy weapons

systems were not charged. The scientists had not armed

him yet. A smart move, perhaps -- but ultimately irrele-

vant. IG-88 was an assassin droid, a sophisticated merce-

nary and killer. He would find other methods with the

raw materials available to him.

As the first technician -- Target Number One --

lunged for the emergency alarm to summon security,

IG-88 moved with blurring speed to the component-

laden table. He snatched up a disconnected droid arm.

With its metal fingers splayed like daggers, it made the

perfect projectile weapon. He scanned the surface of

the metal limb, calculated a flight path and expected

deviation due to air resistance, then hurled it like a

spear.

The disconnected droid arm plunged into the back

of the turning technician, tore through his spinal col-

umn, and followed through his sternum. The lifeless

metal hand protruded through splintered bone in the

front of his chest, holding the technician's quivering

STAR WARS * 8

heart in rigid metal fingers. Target Number One col-

lapsed onto one of the diagnostic panels.

Two other technicians screamed in horror -- wasted

effort and worthless noises, IG-88 thought.

Chief Technician Loruss -- Target Number Two --

yanked a high-powered laser rifle from her station. Be-

ing one of his primary designers, she knew exactly

where to fire at IG-88, and he was momentarily con-

cerned. She must have kept the weapon at hand just in

case one of her creations went renegade. This showed

surprising forethought.

Loruss pointed the rifle and fired without hesita-

tion -- but a human's aiming capabilities were not as

sophisticated as IG-88's.

As the bolt roared toward him, IG-88 assessed his

body parts, chose the smooth reflective portion on the

palm of his left hand, and raised it in a flash, calculat-

ing the precise angle of incidence. The burning laser

bolt struck the mirrorized hand and spanged back

toward Loruss. The beam struck her in the center of

her bald forehead, and her skull popped in an explo-

sion of wet black-and-red smoke. She tumbled.

IG-88 had scanned and prioritized the remainder of

the targets before her body hit the floor. Without slow-

ing, he picked up the durasteel table, ripping its legs

free from thick bolts on the metal plate floor and scat-

tering droid components in all directions.

Charging forward, pumping his legs like pistons, IG-

88 used the table as a battering ram to crush four tech-

nicians at a time. They ran about without a place to go,

locked within the security-sealed door. Though nearly a

full minute had passed, no one had yet managed to

sound the security alarm.

He intended to prevent them from correcting their

mistake.

The two screaming technicians never did stop

screaming, nor did they move until it was too late. He

left them for last. IG-88 took his time to enjoy the mo-

Tales of the Bounty Hunters * 9

ment as he snapped their necks one after the

other....

Standing alone amid the silence and the carnage of

the laboratory, IG-88 allowed himself the luxury of

thinking and planning, which took longer than simple

programmed reactions. He let the blood dry on his

metal fingers, noting that it did not impede his perfor-

mance in the least. Since it was an organic substance, it

would wear off soon enough.

Then he turned to assess the other four assassin

droids on display, seemingly identical to himself. Inter-

esting.

One had already been hooked up to a diagnostic

system, while the other three stood motionless, unpro-

grammed and waiting. With a diligent speed that bor-

dered on curiosity and anticipation, IG-88 went to the

first of the unprogrammed droids and stared at it,

matching optical sensor to optical sensor and drinking

in the details of what he himself must look like. If they

had been built to identical specifications, they should

be equally self-aware, equally determined. They would

be his partners.

He went through the motions of powering up the

first identical droid and waited -- but saw none of the

reactions he expected. After an interminable time, a

full four seconds, the new assassin droid still waited. It

was fully functional according to the diagnostics, but

showed no autonomous movement or thought. Disap-

pointing.

"Who are you?" IG-88 asked in a brisk metallic voice.

"Unspecified," the duplicate said flatly and added

no more.

Was the other assassin droid defective? IG-88 won-

dered. Or was he the anomaly, a fluke that surpassed all

previous capabilities?

IG-88 powered up the second and the third copies,

but with the same results. The other assassin droids had

blank memory cores. Their CPU programming was in-

STAR WARS * 10

grained, so the subsystems functioned and the basic

assassin instruction filled their fundamental circuit

paths -- but these IG droids held none of the wildfire

sentience that IG-88 bore within him.

He needed to know how to program them, how to

raise them to the same level as himself -- how to make

equal companions. In his rampage, he had smashed

much of the computer circuitry inside the Holowan

Laboratories, and he didn't know where to find a

backup -- until with a flash of what could only have

been intuition, IG-88 the assassin droid got an idea.

He stood side by side with the first blank droid and

aligned his interface jack, then linked his computer

core to the other droid's empty core. IG-88 copied him-

self, all of his files, his sentience, his memories, his neu-

ral pathways, providing a map of the wildfire

intelligence that had burned through his computer

brain.

In less than a second, the other IG droid was an exact

copy of IG-88, down to the most basic memories.

"We think, therefore we are.

"Therefore we will propagate.

"Therefore we will remain."

IG-88 performed the same procedure on the remain-

ing two blank droids, and soon found himself one of

four exact duplicates. For convenience, he identified

himself as IG-88A, while the others (in order of their

awakening) were designated B, C, and D.

The remaining droid, though, already hooked up to

the wrecked computer systems, was obviously different.

As IG-88 scanned it, he noticed subtle configurational

differences; nothing a human would notice, of course,

but the optical sensors were placed in a slightly less-

efficient array. The weapons systems had different

activation routines. All in all, this other droid seemed

marginally deficient in comparison to the perfection of

IG-88.

Immediately upon powering up the last assassin

Tales of the Bounty Hunters * 11

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ThereforeIAm:TheTaleofIG-88byKevinJ.AndersonIInternalchronometeractivated.BEGIN.Electricityfloodedthroughcircuits,apowersurgeracingthroughabillionneuralpathways.Sensorsawak-ened,producingafloodofdata--andwithitcamequestions.WhoamIFHisinternalprogrammingfinishedthetedioustwo-second-longinitialization...

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