X3 history but crucial comic reference and much more a comic feel. Basically, the short speech Hank made about the "cure" turned me halfway into a mutie-hater. Others might have had the same reaction . . . One-shot.
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A woman and a man in an appropriately dark room, having watched for a third time a tape of Dr. Hank McCoy arguing against the gene suppression therapy for mutants.
"That's enough, you've made your point. I can't believe Dr. McCoy would make such a racist claim. Mutants as homo superior, the next stage in evolution. What basis does he have for this other than his own arrogance? The ascent from killer plains ape to modern humans has very clear patterns, none of which are evident in the present generation of mutations . . ."
"No need, professor -- you are preaching to the choir." The woman cut the man off. She was tall, somewhat thickly built, but in good enough condition to be an athlete. Or perhaps ex-athlete, given that she appeared to be in her early 40's. He resembled the stereotype science geek, but without the glasses and painfully thin. He was also significantly younger, perhaps late 20's.
"Even if he happens to be right, it's all too revealing. The astute, politically savvy Dr. McCoy at such a sensitive time was willing to say something which is obviously offensive, upsetting, even infuriating to many, many people. It could only have slipped out that easily if it was a core belief in the mutant sub-culture. They not only consider themselves superior but we homo erectus to their homo sapiens."
The man looked troubled as the woman continued.
"Perhaps even more disturbing is his willingness to deny the right to choose to participate to those mutants who don't agree with his view of the gene suppression."
"Now wait, ma'am, he had, and has, very good reason to distrust the government's motives and plan for the therapy."
"Yes, but that wasn't his main point now, was it?" She paused, waiting for a rejoinder that did not come. "How's your political history, professor?"
The man shrugged. He was a true genius, there was no need to be aggressive about it.
"McCoy there made me think of Lenin. Workers are the future even if many of them don't know it yet. We'll have to lead them there whether they like it or not."
"So that casts Magneto as Stalin?"
"Would you doubt for an instant that Magneto would kill the way Stalin killed, in order to inaugurate the new era? With himself as first among equals, of course."
The professor fell silent – there was no answer to that. After a moment staring at the video screen where McCoy was frozen in time, he sighed. "Fine then, what is it you are proposing?"
The woman showed no emotion at her apparent victory. She touched a button and McCoy was replaced on the screen by a Sentinel, an advanced military robot developed to deal with Magneto and like-minded mutants. "You are aware, professor, of how the first generation of Sentinels disappointed the National Security Council. Easily defeated by veteran mutants such as Wolverine."
He nodded briefly and she continued, "The second generation is being introduced now and a third one is in the design stage. The third generation is going to be much tougher and it's less than a decade away, maybe much less."
"I would have thought you'd be pleased."
She scowled and he shrank back. "If I said Juggernaut and Storm were the same, would you agree?" The man was rigid now, afraid to answer. "Of course not. If there can be better and worse mutants why can't there be better and worse . . . normals?" She didn't want to say 'humans' because that implied mutants were not human, which she did not believe. Unfortunately, they were all too human.
"I, I apologize."
She nodded, "I opposed the program but was outmaneuvered by those who can appeal openly to the public. The Sentinels are terror weapons, hence the size. At the same time we are trying to convince mutants to start the therapy, we are trying to scare them. The brute force approach will also ensure more civilian casualties. We could easily have situations where Sentinels are putting people in danger trying to apprehend mutants like Iceman, who then turn around and protect the innocent. I want no part of that."
The man was again willing to nod. He certainly agreed with that part.
"The worst is their programming. Simple division between mutants who are willing to take the therapy on the spot and all others who are to be subdued by any force necessary. We could easily program much more refined distinctions but the decision was consciously made not to do so. It's unacceptable."
The man waited, unsure where she was going. She looked directly at him, "Do you follow technological development broadly, professor, or just your own field?"
"My field overlaps so much with everything else that I try to keep up."
"Are you aware of the media coverage of certain inventions as bringing Star Trek to life?"
"Yes," The man actually chuckled, "You should see how many respected scientists' eyes light up if you say the words 'just like Star Trek.'"
The woman did not smile, instead changing the image on the monitor. A technical schematic appeared, instantly drawing the man's full attention. "We screen the discoveries, of course. The world knows that science believes a cloaking device is really possible; we already have one." She progressed through the specifications, giving the man time to absorb the information. "The next step is a perfect hologram, not like the junk that's out there now, one indistinguishable on sight from the real thing. Small-scale production is just a few years away."
The man looked at her, knowing there had to be more. Another image appeared on the monitor.
"New power conversion tech. Takes almost all known forms of energy – light, heat, wind, water flow – and converts them into usable power. Can convert electricity, too, of course. The next generation will be much more efficient."
She paused, and looked at him meaningfully. "There's more, but I'll skip to the crux: next generation artificial intelligence, capable of replicating programmed value judgments, from which color is better to difficult ethical decisions."
Lines of code now appeared on the screen, causing the man's eyes to widen. "You can program an immoral computer just as easily as a moral one."
"Considering they're all now amoral, I don't see how immoral is much worse."
He waited. She directed his eyes back to the monitor. An entirely ordinary-looking young man appeared. The screen changed and he transformed into what appeared to be a smaller cousin to a Sentinel.
"We are close to the ability to produce a class of machines which appear to be human, have extremely powerful and nearly self-sufficient generators, and intelligence routines capable of exercising humane judgment in a huge variety of situations."
"Until someone touches them."
"We have an outer shell that perfectly simulates the feel of clothing and, where appropriate, skin, including warming to correct temperature."
"And the inner shell?"
"Adamantium."
"You'd need a serious generator just to keep the robot from leaving footprints in cement at that weight. For anything more vigorous – like chasing mutant terrorists – you'd practically need a small power plant."
"That's where you come in." She had his full attention. "We have or will have all the technology. But most of it is too bulky, some far too bulky. You have proven yourself to be able to miniaturize things thought out of reach just a decade ago. You'd have essentially unlimited resources. With your help, this project could become a reality at the same time as the third-generation Sentinels. It would be more powerful than any Sentinel or mutant, obviously stealthier, yet with adaptable programming and the moral imperative to minimize casualties. All casualties."
A week ago, the man might have hesitated. Fine words and a fantastic work opportunity, but the government was not to be trusted. He took the woman as sincere but she could lose control of the project just as she lost the battle over the first Sentinels. McCoy's speech, though, frightened him. Mutants are superior but not superior enough to make their own decisions. And McCoy was an enlightened mutant!
He decided. "I'm at your disposal." Now, for the first time, the woman did smile. "So what do you call it?"
"We had the hardest time thinking of a name." She brought the image of the robot back to the screen. "Then one of your new colleagues – a Dr. Essex -- woke up from a dream insisting on a name. I don't think it's appropriate but, by the time I was told, the name had stuck."
They both turned to the screen.
"Nimrod."