Read Online The Assimilated Cuban's Guide to Quantum Santeria by Carlos Hernández - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carlos Hernández
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They claimed responsibility for the arson two years ago that caused more than $16 million in damage to APM equipment and prompted the move to this new facility. Their growing infamy and belligerence caused the United States to classify them as a terrorist organization.
Predictably, that label initially bolstered their numbers. But it also meant, under the most recent iteration of the Patriot Act, these “enemy combatants” could be captured or even killed by any citizen or legal alien of the United States without fear of prosecution.
Not too many enemy combatants have been killed or captured on U.S. soil by U.S. citizens. In fact, all combatants so captured have been from 22:19 by APM. To accomplish this feat, APM has employed the most unlikely anti-terrorism technology ever conceived: the robot giant panda.
It sounds funny, I know. But make no mistake: the robot giant pandas are shockingly effective. Their metal skeletons shrug off bullets like snowflakes, they can run through bamboo-dense terrain at 50 kph, and we have evidence of just how easily they can end human life. Two 22:19ers trespassed onto the APM campus on November 5, 2027. One of them filmed the other’s death.
Constance Ritter, the 22:19 member who was killed, had a head that was just as firmly attached to her neck as anyone else’s when the day began. But as the footage shows, a second later the robot Greg Furce was jockeying took a swipe at her, and tick, her head flies out of frame in a split-second. Her body takes a comparatively long time to kneel, then topple over. The male 22:19er, never identified, runs through the dense bamboo whisper-crying “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit” for the rest of the clip.
APM has the legal authority to kill 22:19 trespassers, and given how much stronger a robot panda is than a human, it’s something ofa miracle more people haven’t died. But as APM found out the hard way, in terms of public perception, even one death is one too many.
Back on the monitors, the bamboo forest has given way to an open field. We can now make out, faintly in the distance, a man is running away from the robot as if his life depended on it. Behind him, the robot’s closing, fast.
It’s extraordinary, watching the panda-mime Cooper is performing for us live while, above him, the silent viewscreens show us the field robot rising and falling as it runs in exact synchronicity. The two are precisely linked—if there is any lag, my eye can’t detect it.
With each galumph, the robot closes the gap between itself and the suspect. Terrorist or no, part of me can’t help but root for the running, terrified human. This looks like the kind of villain-cam you get in horror movie chase-scenes.
We can see the terrorist clearly now: dressed in Eddie Bauer camouflage and toting a rifle that looks plenty dangerous to me. But according to Deeprashad, against robot pandas you might as well be throwing raw hotdogs.
Cooper leaps one last time—the Avalon-suit extends into a full Superman stretch—and when the onscreen robot lands, his quarry vanishes beneath it.
“Got him,” Cooper reports seconds later, his voice throaty with adrenaline. The control room cheers.
In person, Cooper has bellyflopped onto the floor and lies there, splayed like a rug. The field robot, following suit, has bellyflopped onto its quarry.
The robot panda will lounge upon the flattened suspect until backup arrives. Said suspect will be charged with a long list of offenses, both state and federal. He’ll have the full weight of the Patriot Act thrown at him. That means life imprisonment is on the table in California. At the federal level, so is execution.
But his first journey will be to the hospital. Cooper reports he heard “a loud crack” when he landed. The suspect is now “mooing like a sick cow.”
Deeprashad moans a little. Xiadon is hard, expressionless. They’re both wondering if they made a grave mistake allowing me to witness this.
“How badly is
Predictably, that label initially bolstered their numbers. But it also meant, under the most recent iteration of the Patriot Act, these “enemy combatants” could be captured or even killed by any citizen or legal alien of the United States without fear of prosecution.
Not too many enemy combatants have been killed or captured on U.S. soil by U.S. citizens. In fact, all combatants so captured have been from 22:19 by APM. To accomplish this feat, APM has employed the most unlikely anti-terrorism technology ever conceived: the robot giant panda.
It sounds funny, I know. But make no mistake: the robot giant pandas are shockingly effective. Their metal skeletons shrug off bullets like snowflakes, they can run through bamboo-dense terrain at 50 kph, and we have evidence of just how easily they can end human life. Two 22:19ers trespassed onto the APM campus on November 5, 2027. One of them filmed the other’s death.
Constance Ritter, the 22:19 member who was killed, had a head that was just as firmly attached to her neck as anyone else’s when the day began. But as the footage shows, a second later the robot Greg Furce was jockeying took a swipe at her, and tick, her head flies out of frame in a split-second. Her body takes a comparatively long time to kneel, then topple over. The male 22:19er, never identified, runs through the dense bamboo whisper-crying “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit” for the rest of the clip.
APM has the legal authority to kill 22:19 trespassers, and given how much stronger a robot panda is than a human, it’s something ofa miracle more people haven’t died. But as APM found out the hard way, in terms of public perception, even one death is one too many.
Back on the monitors, the bamboo forest has given way to an open field. We can now make out, faintly in the distance, a man is running away from the robot as if his life depended on it. Behind him, the robot’s closing, fast.
It’s extraordinary, watching the panda-mime Cooper is performing for us live while, above him, the silent viewscreens show us the field robot rising and falling as it runs in exact synchronicity. The two are precisely linked—if there is any lag, my eye can’t detect it.
With each galumph, the robot closes the gap between itself and the suspect. Terrorist or no, part of me can’t help but root for the running, terrified human. This looks like the kind of villain-cam you get in horror movie chase-scenes.
We can see the terrorist clearly now: dressed in Eddie Bauer camouflage and toting a rifle that looks plenty dangerous to me. But according to Deeprashad, against robot pandas you might as well be throwing raw hotdogs.
Cooper leaps one last time—the Avalon-suit extends into a full Superman stretch—and when the onscreen robot lands, his quarry vanishes beneath it.
“Got him,” Cooper reports seconds later, his voice throaty with adrenaline. The control room cheers.
In person, Cooper has bellyflopped onto the floor and lies there, splayed like a rug. The field robot, following suit, has bellyflopped onto its quarry.
The robot panda will lounge upon the flattened suspect until backup arrives. Said suspect will be charged with a long list of offenses, both state and federal. He’ll have the full weight of the Patriot Act thrown at him. That means life imprisonment is on the table in California. At the federal level, so is execution.
But his first journey will be to the hospital. Cooper reports he heard “a loud crack” when he landed. The suspect is now “mooing like a sick cow.”
Deeprashad moans a little. Xiadon is hard, expressionless. They’re both wondering if they made a grave mistake allowing me to witness this.
“How badly is
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