[CW26] The Sharp Mind And Its Dull Blade

The Sharp Mind And Its Dull Blade

The harsh noise of gravel, mixed with damp soil wet from rain a day earlier crunches under her boots. She barely stepped out of the car when her bones already started to complain, the moisture is too high and the temperature too low, this was never a good sign before an assignment. It is only with resistance, carrying the heavy boots over the barely even terrain, that step after step she finally arrives at the entrance of the commanding tent — where someone highly decorated and with a look of annoyance greets her.
Obedient as her job demands, she takes the initiative to prevent any boring tirade by a higher up that likely will lead to nowhere: “Where is it?”.
The decorated uniform gives a sigh, but the annoyance seems to subside slightly hearing those words: “Finally. Primary Storage facility, just across. Just show the guard your credentials”. With these sparing instructions they already turn around, addressing a pile of paperwork instead.
It is hard to judge how late it is, the sky is still full of clouds, but she rather not waste more time than necessary. A short walk later she finds herself at the entrance of this designated primary storage facility, with a heavily armed guard in front looking like he’s are about to fall asleep. At least it seems to not pose much of a threat, if even it’s guard doesn’t take their responsibility seriously… or maybe she should actually start being worried.
Stepping up, audibly clearing her throat to catch his attention, she quickly shows the badge hanging from her lanyard.
His tired eyes slowly scan its content, before he cooperates: “Ah, the auditor. We didn’t know it would take you this long to get here”.
What a flimsy excuse, but it doesn’t matter — he steps aside and she heads into the temporary building. The floor is clean, too clean considering the recent weather, nobody has stepped into this place ever since the incident had been reported. Her boots are the first to stain the metal plates grounding this small shelter, wet thuds bringing in the gravel and the dirt from outside.
Left and right shelves are stacked with supplies, with ammunition and weapons, with replacement parts and guns. What little light comes through the windows is enough that she doesn’t bother with the lights, but it isn’t enough to just confidently walk the hall.
Coming up towards the end of it, obscured by shadows and only given away by the faint reflections of a dull blade, there it is…

Her pose stiffens, she takes a moment to assess the situation. Her eyes wander bottom up, trying to find shapes in the darkness while not trying to draw attention to herself. However this attempt has already failed.
“Are you taking me with you?”, it asks with quiet voice.
The woman wasn’t prepared to be questioned, but her years of experience have taught her not to reply on instinct alone. Any other person might utter lies to reassure, to make themselves seem less hostile, given the one in front of them is armed, but she knows her words won’t sway it one way or another.
As her investigative gaze concludes and she mentally recalled the report, she finally engages the target: “Unit, your weapon is not suitable for combat, why do you refuse to replace it?”.
The cold mechanic eyes shimmer as they slowly move around, its gaze finally landing on hers: “It’s not broken”.
The report was accurate, the labored bones in her legs complain even more now anticipating having to hold her stance for a while: “If it is not suitable for combat it can be considered broken”. She steps to the side, grabs a blade just the make as the one it holds from the shelf, just much sharper. She reclaims her assertive position against her adversary and presents it: “Replace it and report back to your station”.
The eyes locked the entire time on her do not waver, they do not consider what is presented: “It’s not broken”.
She lowers her arm, the blade is heavy and she isn’t trained to wield it anyway: “Can it fight with it?”.
“No”.
At least it’s not completely delusional… this makes this even more complicated: “If it can’t fight with it, it is broken”.
“But it’s not”. It’s eyes still don’t give in, mechanically locked on the woman.
She let’s out a sigh: “It’s no gooItsd like this—”.
“I haven’t seen it break, let me keep it”.
Simple reasoning — the only kind of reasoning it should have been capable off — is off the table. She puts the blade back onto the shelf, and gathers her resolve for a moment. She wants to get back as quickly as possible yes, but it seems this auditing requires yet another unique approach to achieve that goal. She takes a deep breath, and let’s her shoulders slump. Change of plan. She returns to it, but this time sits down in front of it, her face deceptively friendly contrasting the commanding presence inherent in her position.
Closer to the ground, out of the light of the windows, she can also finally see it more clearly. As her eyes get used to the dampness she can see it clasping the dull blade, its arms and legs around it protectively like a mother would grab her child being threatened… in all her years she rarely saw a unit of this type this engaged with a random piece of equipment: “If you keep it, if you take a new blade too, it will only weight you down”.
“It will compromise my performance is what you are trying to say”.
It’s eyes are sharp, and its reasoning much more intelligent than its childish insistence on keeping a useless piece of metal. “Doesn’t that mean it should be replaced?”.
It’s arms wrap around it even tighter, demonstrating just how dull the blade has gotten over the last months of service: “It’s not broken, so it is still a part of me”.
The mask of friendliness is leaving her face, but she is trying her best to hide how tired she already was when she stepped into the room: “You are useful, it is not useful, therefore it is not a part of you”.
There is not a hint of her words chipping away its resolve, its expression remains stoic: “I am only useful because of it, with it. If it’s not broken, how can I abandon it? When it stood by my side all this time giving me purpose?”.
It is delivering its reasoning like it had practiced these lines all day, but even then it should not be capable of such thoughts. Maybe it is broken after all? She remains silent for a moment longer.
As the quiet hangs in the air, for the first time its eyes let go of its target and sink towards the floor: “Will the same happen to me one day?”.
She remains quiet still.
“I’m not broken, but they still send an auditor for me. If I don’t start behaving by the time you leave, you will take me away too, right?”.
Finally at the end of her script she starts to improvise: “I’m not a mechanic or an AI engineer, I can’t assess your damage. I’m just here to see if I can get you back to the front or if I need to call others”.
It’s grip tightens around the useless blade, but its expression becomes more hopeless. The tension in its mechanical joins ramps up for a moment, and then lets go completely: “Seventeen”.
“Seventeen?”
“That’s how many have been taken from me, ever since I was put into service. This is blade eighteen… I don’t want to do this again”.
She gives the blade still in its arms another glance, it has lost most of its shine compared to the new ones surrounding them, with multiple big chunks chipped out of it — it should likely have been replaced weeks ago.
“None of them broke… they always just became so dull that my performance went down. So I had to replace them, even though they never broke… I can’t do this anymore. I want to see them break”.
Its words start to make no sense, but they are filled with a desperate warmth of someone who had given this years of thought. “If it makes you sad seeing it like this, wouldn’t breaking it be even worse?”
It’s eyes snap back onto her, its grip regains its hold: “No! If it breaks, I know its broken! I know its purpose is fulfilled! There are seventeen blades I never saw break, they are out there without me, separated from me, they will never be able to complete their mission! I refuse to let this one suffer the same fate!”
Its words might have sounded angry to some, but really she can see it is only desperate feeling like it isn’t understood. Maybe it’s her tired bones, the wet soil still clinging to her boots, or the gentle sound of wind seeping through the poorly insulated windows, but she wants to hear it out: “Just because it didn’t snap doesn’t mean it isn’t broken. It’s purpose is to help you defeat your enemies, if it’s too dull to cut metal, even flesh, it endangers you. It can never again fulfill it’s purpose, so it’s broken”.
“So I am broken, too”.
“No, you aren’t. If you give up this blade, take up a new one, you can go back and fulfill your purpose. This separates you from it, you can be useful again, you aren’t broken yet”.
Its gaze holds steady a second longer, before its head slumps down, its prepared reasoning must have ran out.
She reaches out towards the blade, but before her hand touches it it pulls it away: “Why… why can’t it say goodbye first… why wouldn’t it break”.
It’s voice is shaking, like it would cry but its hardware isn’t made for it. She doesn’t follow: “I… how would it say goodbye?”
“Have you ever heard a blade break? I never did… but isn’t it like a farewell? Like it would say ‘We have served our purpose together, please find a new partner that will protect you’?”
“I don’t…”
“If it breaks, that means it tells me it thinks it is done, it is ready to be replaced… I can’t decide that for it, I can’t just toss it away while it still thinks it’s useful… if it didn’t break than that means…”.
“You aren’t making any sense anymore.”
Its body locks up around the blade, but the silence in the room increasingly bathed by darkness is filled with quiet whimpers. Maybe it is giving up trying to be understood.
After seconds of contemplating, thinking of an answer or rebuttal, she decides she has reached the end of her patience. The Auditor slowly gets up from the floor, like she is giving it a few more seconds to explain itself, or maybe quietly hoping the conversation would continue and she has more of a chance understanding what it is getting at. But nothing, silence.
She turns and slowly heads for the exit, her legs almost fell asleep on the cold floor.
Reaching the doorframe, she gives it one more glance, gazes in its direction unable to make out its exact position in what little light the day has left. Her mouth opens for a moment, like she wanted to give it a few parting words, or a last attempt to connecting with it, but ultimately she remains silent and turns away.

In all her years she never saw this type of unit behave like this… but she also never saw one this old. Usually they don’t survive that long. They are the first to be thrown at the enemy before humans decide to waste their own life on the battlefield, so even the oldest units are barely a few months into service. Maybe it was a manufacturing defect, maybe someone accidentally put a much more intelligent AI into it, making it much more capable of survival. Maybe it is just a rare case of parts that came out just right, or just wrong, aligning to make it like this. But regardless of the reason, the report she has to draft can’t take any of this guesswork into account. She was send out here because it was old and capable, but she can’t just fabricate a reason to hide the truth.
In the end — despite its intelligence, its achievements, its character — it cannot fulfill its purpose anymore. Its reasoning, its emotions, are a liability, it needs to be replaced. It is broken.