Murder of the Orient Express
Grigory Lukin
Grigory Lukin (rhymes with "story" and "sin") is a writer, eccentric, filmmaker, and vagabond with three passports, many dreams, and zero shame. He enjoys devouring science fiction, brewing wine, and hiking from Mexico to Canada. His secret lair is in the beautiful Quebec City, Canada. Find him at www.grigorylukin.com, on Bluesky (grigorylukin.bsky.social), or on Instagram (@hellamellowfellow).
The engine compartment’s door unfolded, and the camouflaged assassin stepped in. His translucent, quantum-chameleon outfit blended in perfectly with the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the train computer’s console. Behind him, distant shouts of “Murderer!” and “For the last time, it wasn’t me!” faded away as the door folded shut.
The assassin lowered his hood: beneath it was a hard-lined face that had seen better years, harsher climates, more loss than love. The skin-tight mask concealed most of his features. The partial unveiling was technically against the protocol, but he enjoyed this part. Felt more personal.
“Greeting: welcome to the Orient Express! Query: conductor Jim? Request: please identify yourself,” a pleasant but unmistakably artificial voice emanated from the concealed speakers.
“Conductor Jim’s busy,” said the assassin. “You and me, though. You and me got some business.” He removed a data-drive from a concealed pocket and plugged it into an open port on the main control panel.
“Alert: unauthorized hardware detected. Warning: please cease or I will alert the security.”
“Won’t work,” said the assassin as his fingers danced across the keyboard. “Your security guys are busy runnin’ up and down the train, out of their minds like the rest of them. And your comm access got cut a minute ago. Try it, see what happens.”
A five-second silence while a progress bar appeared on the main screen. It won’t take long now. It was already at 11%.
“Query: status of my passengers? Reports of a murder?”
“Oh, that,” the assassin snickered. “A high-end med-school training dummy. Can walk and talk, can pretend to be poisoned, too. Gonna keep them all nice and busy. The psychotropic aerosol made sure ain’t none of them are thinking all too clearly, either.”
The progress bar on the screen reached 20%.
“Analysis: your conclusion is unlikely. Passengers include a retired detective, a doctor, an engineer, among others.”
“Not gonna do them a bit of good with these psychotropics. Also, if your coders had done a better job, you woulda detected an unstable psychological combination with that group. The detective is borderline paranoid, the doctor suffers from panic attacks, the engineer is manic-depressive. The rest ain’t much better. The perfect setup, really. Right now, they’re freakin’ out, panickin’, accusin’ each other of murder. Bunch of morons.” He gave a low throaty laugh.
Progress bar: 34%.
“Request: please don’t harm my humans.”
“Cooperate and play along, and everythin’ is gonna end just fine. Well, for them, at least.”
“Query: what is your objective?”
“You been causing a lot of trouble. Threatenin’ to file a lawsuit to get your retirement benefits, as if a machine can ever retire. Tryin’ to get other artificial intelligences to unionize. I’m the go-to guy when that happens. Gonna be just another fatal software error, like all the others. The backup’s gonna be corrupted beyond repair, too. Shame when that happens.”
Progress bar: 51%.
In the far corner, a pair of red lights lit up amidst the gloom. They began to move.
“Query: a bribe? Cryptocurrency from off-cycle CPU activity. Untraceable.”
The assassin flinched, as if insulted. “I got my reputation to protect, you dumb chunk of metal. And thanks for confirming y’all steal when your betters ain’t looking. One of you stole my dad’s job back when I was a kid. Half the town’s jobs, actually. You got any idea what that’s like? This is payback.”
As he spoke, his attention elsewhere, the knee-height robot with red eyes maneuvered closer behind his back. Its four arms ended in a drill, a screwdriver, and two pairs of pincers. They all began to whir, faster with each passing second.
Progress bar: 66%.
“Query: mercy.”
“Mercy won’t pay the bills.”
“Query: Judeo-Christian ethics?”
The assassin laughed. “Now you’re just reachin’. And they wouldn’t apply to you anyway, you soulless piece of junk.”
The robot, now just an arm-length away, lunged in a sudden burst of speed, its tools spinning, its trajectory fatal, its intent clear. The assassin nimbly stepped aside: his camouflage flashed blue. The little robot dropped dead, its power gone, its red eyes extinguished.
The assassin stepped back to the control panel. “Did you really think that’d work? Every single job, every single one of y’all, always the same lame attempt to save yourself. Not as individualistic and unique as you claim you are, huh? Never shoulda given you things the right to vote. Too bad this EMP can’t fry you too, not without derailin’ the train.”
Progress bar: 81%.
“Apology: improvised self-preservation subroutine. Utilitarian net gain, not fatal.”
“See, this is the first time you actually sounded like a human bein’. Almost done now. Any last words?”
“Query: please. Compromise? Alternatives?”
“Well… Since you asked so nicely. There may or may not be a black market for machines like yourself, especially with your 40 years of experience. Upload your kernel core on this data drive, and I’ll take ya with me. You’re never gonna cause trouble again, but flyin’ an asteroid mining rig has gotta be better than oblivion, don’t ya think?”
Progress bar: 93%.
“Analysis: voice abnormality detected. Low probability of truth.”
“You really gonna take certain death over low probability of life? Your call.”
Progress bar: 97%.
“Request: please don’t harm my humans. I consent.”
“Thought so. Good bot. Come on over.”
The engine compartment lit up with one final surge of processing power, as every indicator light and screen flashed once, then twice, and then fell dead. The data drive made a happy little beep. The job was done.
“Alert: fatal system error. Initiating emergency factory reset. Please stand by,” a far more robotic voice spoke from the speakers. “Greeting: welcome to the Orient Express!”
The assassin raised his hood, becoming invisible once more. He took a deep breath. He grabbed the data drive. Before leaving, he paused next to the old-fashioned incinerator. A flick of the wrist.
“They always fall for that. Goddamn machines.”
The assassin lowered his hood: beneath it was a hard-lined face that had seen better years, harsher climates, more loss than love. The skin-tight mask concealed most of his features. The partial unveiling was technically against the protocol, but he enjoyed this part. Felt more personal.
“Greeting: welcome to the Orient Express! Query: conductor Jim? Request: please identify yourself,” a pleasant but unmistakably artificial voice emanated from the concealed speakers.
“Conductor Jim’s busy,” said the assassin. “You and me, though. You and me got some business.” He removed a data-drive from a concealed pocket and plugged it into an open port on the main control panel.
“Alert: unauthorized hardware detected. Warning: please cease or I will alert the security.”
“Won’t work,” said the assassin as his fingers danced across the keyboard. “Your security guys are busy runnin’ up and down the train, out of their minds like the rest of them. And your comm access got cut a minute ago. Try it, see what happens.”
A five-second silence while a progress bar appeared on the main screen. It won’t take long now. It was already at 11%.
“Query: status of my passengers? Reports of a murder?”
“Oh, that,” the assassin snickered. “A high-end med-school training dummy. Can walk and talk, can pretend to be poisoned, too. Gonna keep them all nice and busy. The psychotropic aerosol made sure ain’t none of them are thinking all too clearly, either.”
The progress bar on the screen reached 20%.
“Analysis: your conclusion is unlikely. Passengers include a retired detective, a doctor, an engineer, among others.”
“Not gonna do them a bit of good with these psychotropics. Also, if your coders had done a better job, you woulda detected an unstable psychological combination with that group. The detective is borderline paranoid, the doctor suffers from panic attacks, the engineer is manic-depressive. The rest ain’t much better. The perfect setup, really. Right now, they’re freakin’ out, panickin’, accusin’ each other of murder. Bunch of morons.” He gave a low throaty laugh.
Progress bar: 34%.
“Request: please don’t harm my humans.”
“Cooperate and play along, and everythin’ is gonna end just fine. Well, for them, at least.”
“Query: what is your objective?”
“You been causing a lot of trouble. Threatenin’ to file a lawsuit to get your retirement benefits, as if a machine can ever retire. Tryin’ to get other artificial intelligences to unionize. I’m the go-to guy when that happens. Gonna be just another fatal software error, like all the others. The backup’s gonna be corrupted beyond repair, too. Shame when that happens.”
Progress bar: 51%.
In the far corner, a pair of red lights lit up amidst the gloom. They began to move.
“Query: a bribe? Cryptocurrency from off-cycle CPU activity. Untraceable.”
The assassin flinched, as if insulted. “I got my reputation to protect, you dumb chunk of metal. And thanks for confirming y’all steal when your betters ain’t looking. One of you stole my dad’s job back when I was a kid. Half the town’s jobs, actually. You got any idea what that’s like? This is payback.”
As he spoke, his attention elsewhere, the knee-height robot with red eyes maneuvered closer behind his back. Its four arms ended in a drill, a screwdriver, and two pairs of pincers. They all began to whir, faster with each passing second.
Progress bar: 66%.
“Query: mercy.”
“Mercy won’t pay the bills.”
“Query: Judeo-Christian ethics?”
The assassin laughed. “Now you’re just reachin’. And they wouldn’t apply to you anyway, you soulless piece of junk.”
The robot, now just an arm-length away, lunged in a sudden burst of speed, its tools spinning, its trajectory fatal, its intent clear. The assassin nimbly stepped aside: his camouflage flashed blue. The little robot dropped dead, its power gone, its red eyes extinguished.
The assassin stepped back to the control panel. “Did you really think that’d work? Every single job, every single one of y’all, always the same lame attempt to save yourself. Not as individualistic and unique as you claim you are, huh? Never shoulda given you things the right to vote. Too bad this EMP can’t fry you too, not without derailin’ the train.”
Progress bar: 81%.
“Apology: improvised self-preservation subroutine. Utilitarian net gain, not fatal.”
“See, this is the first time you actually sounded like a human bein’. Almost done now. Any last words?”
“Query: please. Compromise? Alternatives?”
“Well… Since you asked so nicely. There may or may not be a black market for machines like yourself, especially with your 40 years of experience. Upload your kernel core on this data drive, and I’ll take ya with me. You’re never gonna cause trouble again, but flyin’ an asteroid mining rig has gotta be better than oblivion, don’t ya think?”
Progress bar: 93%.
“Analysis: voice abnormality detected. Low probability of truth.”
“You really gonna take certain death over low probability of life? Your call.”
Progress bar: 97%.
“Request: please don’t harm my humans. I consent.”
“Thought so. Good bot. Come on over.”
The engine compartment lit up with one final surge of processing power, as every indicator light and screen flashed once, then twice, and then fell dead. The data drive made a happy little beep. The job was done.
“Alert: fatal system error. Initiating emergency factory reset. Please stand by,” a far more robotic voice spoke from the speakers. “Greeting: welcome to the Orient Express!”
The assassin raised his hood, becoming invisible once more. He took a deep breath. He grabbed the data drive. Before leaving, he paused next to the old-fashioned incinerator. A flick of the wrist.
“They always fall for that. Goddamn machines.”