{"id":2469,"date":"2025-07-31T21:55:27","date_gmt":"2025-07-31T21:55:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=2469"},"modified":"2025-07-31T21:55:31","modified_gmt":"2025-07-31T21:55:31","slug":"deliverance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/deliverance\/2469\/","title":{"rendered":"Deliverance"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Mick sat in his land-train on an escarpment overlooking the crossing. Below, in the valley, the bots paraded alongside the slowly shuffling line of indentured labourers, their threatening gestures accompanying each faltering step. He counted five bots, one for every twenty humans.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all about ratios,\u201d he muttered, pulling his scarf up to his nose. That\u2019s how corporations preferred it. Bots were costly; humans were cheap. But everything had a cost. He\u2019d rescued slaves before\u2026 for a price.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

He pressed the icon to download the unstable, short-lived neuro-ordnance to the knock-off, no-ID, no-provenance embedded projector he\u2019d bought at Yung-Sen market. Disengaging the door clamps, he placed a boot on the gravel-strewn ground, listening to it crunch beneath him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He took a step forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The nearest bot turned its nearly featureless head towards him, its carbine-clad arms twitching like predatory insects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHold your fire, flask-face,\u201d he yelled, pulling his ident out. \u201cI\u2019m a registered trader.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStand still, and extend your arms vertically,\u201d the bot commanded in a metallic rumble.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood, arms raised. Once the bot had determined he was holding no weapons, it waved its gun at him. \u201cProceed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He scrambled down the escarpment, feeling the jittery bite of his neuro-ordnance rattling around in his top-level storage, eager to escape. He doubted Archelon\u2019s shaky plan; two auto-carbines would have been better. Still, the old man had persuaded him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToo many collateral casualties,\u201d he\u2019d said, his old face lined with a look of sorrow. \u201cTry it my way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bot approached him, \u201cState your business, trader.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want to contract the labour in your charge,\u201d he responded, waving an arm at the ragged line. \u201cWe have an agri-project that needs additional hands.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThese are miners, not farmers,\u201d the bot stated flatly. \u201cAnd they are not available for lease.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m willing to pay handsomely for them,\u201d he said, stepping closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have nothing we need,\u201d the bot said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet me show you what I have,\u201d Mick said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He held his hands out, palms up, as he stepped into range of the platoon\u2019s Wi-Fi feed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Connected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Released the neuro-ordnance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It burrowed into the topmost layers of the feed, drenching it with imperatives designed to confuse, subjugate, and disable the command net, without undermining the basic operating tasks running on the lower layers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It took less than a second for the entire troop to be stricken with a willingness to obey his wishes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He patted the nearest bot on its carapace and growled. \u201cPersuader-ware. Nothing but the best.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instructing the bots to walk in a tight circle for twenty-four hours, he released the contract workers and led them up the escarpment. The workforce chatted animatedly; some laughed, some cried, but most looked disbelieving. Contract labourers were born into their bonds and died in them, never earning enough to buy their freedom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once they were safely in the land-train, he sealed his compartment and released the refrigerant. The laughter stopped first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course, fresh meat fetches more, but frozen is easier to store,\u201d he thought.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Mick sat in his land-train on an escarpment overlooking the crossing. Below, in the valley, the bots paraded alongside the slowly shuffling line of indentured labourers, their threatening gestures accompanying each faltering step. He counted five bots, one for every twenty humans. \u201cIt\u2019s all about ratios,\u201d he muttered, pulling his scarf up to his nose. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"no","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[{"account":"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211","service":"facebook","timestamp":1753999019,"status":"success"},{"account":"twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305","service":"twitter","timestamp":1753999020,"status":"error"}],"rop_publish_now_status":"done","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1490,1681],"tags":[1684,1682,1683,95,8,122,20,1686,158,148,1685,9,74,591,72],"class_list":["post-2469","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1490","category-august-2025-persuasion","tag-arms","tag-bot","tag-bots","tag-had","tag-he","tag-him","tag-his","tag-humans","tag-its","tag-no","tag-pulling","tag-said","tag-up","tag-were","tag-your"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-DP","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2469","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2469"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2469\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2471,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2469\/revisions\/2471"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2469"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2469"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2469"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}