Science Fiction Book Review: Automaton

In a world where machines and beasts reign, a man seeks to reclaim his humanity.

I’m very pleased to at last review Automaton, by T.R. Hudson. As an avid lover of both science fiction and dystopian themes, I was very excited to finally get this book on deck for a read. I heard a lot of good things about this book, and I am pleased to say I was not disappointed.

The Story:

Automaton takes place in a shattered United States after a cataclysmic economic collapse that occurs during a war with Iran, referred to as “May Day” by its survivors. The US as we know it is gone with only a puppet government ran out of Hawaii left standing. Two major players have emerged in the chaos, the PSR on the west coast and Deluge Inc on the east coast.

The two sides have been in a robotic arms race with each other for quite some time when the book takes place. Drones heading east and west dogfight and attack targets of opportunity on the ground in Middle America, turning it into a no mans land. This is a form of cold war, as the drones spend most of their time fighting each other and the geographic distance is too far for truly dedicated offensives between the two rivals.

After his fiddling, Joe put the phone away. A few moments passed and from the distance, the blinking lights of a low flying drone came into view, heading right for the longhouses.

It was quick and loud and thorough, strafing the ground 4 or 5 times and implanting the soil with bullets the size of Pepsi bottles, shredding everything that impeded its journey. The mechanical belching sound the drone made was like that of an A-10 Warthog, a sound well known by soldiers in deep shit. The concept was the same. Put wings on a huge gun and point it at whatever needed to go away forever. The charming longhouses were rubble. The chicken coop and pig pen were a broken slaughterhouse. At least three horses were in pieces.

Meanwhile in the “civilized” portions of the country, the PSR maintains a Chinese backed socialist “utopia” off the west coast. A place where the streets are clean and the vehicles are automated, but political prisoners are secreted away to forced labor camps. Social credit scores police the population, and there is no anonymity or privacy under the watchful eye of Babel, an Alexa on steroids that is always listening.

On the east coast, the megacorporation Deluge has made a stand for civilization. Led by CEO Alex Mercer, everything has a profit motive and those that can’t produce are left behind. But there is opportunity within the machine, and those ruthless enough can live the high life if they play their cards right.

Arlo, satisfied, put his hand out as one of the guards brandished a hunting knife and placed the handle in Arlo’s open palm. Arlo walked over and grabbed the man by his matted hair, manipulating him so that his chin was up as he placed the blade across the thief’s neck.

“Before May Day, I worked in finance,” Arlo declared. “I used to commute to the city every day and I made money hand over fist. But it never gave me any satisfaction. Not any real satisfaction, anyway.”

Arlo danced the knife around the thief’s neck, as small bits of his beard fell onto the ground into the pool of blood below, looking like rowboats in a crowded pond.

“But now, I have a small kingdom. I’m responsible for every action that occurs on my land. I took a political science course in college, we talked about the state’s monopoly on violence. It was the cornerstone of law and order. Today, I am that law. And the monopoly is mine. And I take immense satisfaction from that.”

Among those fortunate enough to make a living off of the skills and experiences they brought into the new world from the old, are veterans of the “Persian Campaign” in Iran. Soldiers with “ETP” enhancements are a desirable commodity. They have the ability to heighten their physiological abilities with a phrase they have chosen in order to “turn on” or “turn off”. This allows them to dull their emotions, hasten their reflexes, and heighten their senses.

Many of these soldiers choose to become “Recruiters” for Deluge. Bounty Hunters that press gang the starving wretches surviving in the ruins of civilization into the armies of Deluge. They are paid by the body, even if most of their quarry won’t survive basic training. They bear the nickname “Reps” for “Reptiles” due to their emotionless state when their ETP training is turned on. And a squad of these veterans are the focus of the story.

The Characters:

The cast of Automaton are well written and effortless to imagine with the story being told from the POV of Michael Connors, a member of a Deluge “Recruiter” squad. But Michael isn’t like the rest. While most Reps “turn on” for a few hours at most, Michael is a “Miles Automaton”, the term for a soldier stuck in his ETP enhanced state perpetually.

Mike is a being of pure logic and cunning as a result, spending his spare time desperately trying to unravel his past in his quest to become human again. But he still has to pay the bills. He does his dangerous job diligently alongside a colorful cast of supporting characters, most notably Donahue, an amusing but absolute psychopath of a colleague.

The story is most compellingly told through the descriptions of its minor characters. Intentional or not, they serve to describe the world of Automaton better than the background or the exposition of the main character. This is a good thing, and one of the interesting subtle highlights of the technique of the author that I found interesting. I’ll share some passages below:

The first door answered and a smiling, older couple met the recruiters. They looked full-bellied and although gracious hosts, they seemed annoyed with the disturbance. Michael remembered feeling like he’d traveled back in time, to the bygone era of civilized folk, where knocks on the door weren’t met with berserkers or the terminally desperate. Michael sat on a couch covered in plastic. The others went to clear the rest of the floor.

The convoy passed Chestnut street, where Michael’s friends Bobby and Brandon lived when they were kids. They went to college on baseball scholarships when Michael enlisted. Bobby played a season for Cleveland before May Day. Later, they were drafted and Bobby died in the Appalachia Campaign. Brandon’s body was never found, but they figured he was at the Siege of Fort Benning. The timeline fit, but there was never any way to confirm it. Rumor was, the retreat was so swift that even the wounded were left behind.

“Arlo is this way, Rep,” the child said. Michael entered the house, checking for any surprises, booby traps, or kill holes from the second floor. After clearing the front room, he popped back outside to signal that it was okay to enter. Donahue came in, did his own check and then the pair followed the boy up the stairs to meet whoever Arlo was. Outside the master bedroom, stood a short, stocky man with a deep scar on one cheek and a spear made from an old, wooden coat rack and a kitchen knife duct-taped at the end. Michael thought it looked ridiculous, but if he wasn’t armed, hadn’t eaten much in a while, and lived like an animal the way these people were living, he was sure that the spear would give him pause. The child didn’t notice the spear and spoke to the guard as one would to a co-worker. The guard looked Michael and Donahue up and down, then opened the door, announcing their presence to Arlo.

“Arlo, these Reps are here for our people.”

The children caught the small runner and surrounded him, closing in like a pack of wolves around a wounded deer. Michael didn’t remember that part of Bambi, but took a few steps over and shot a glare at the obvious ring leader, who was a good foot taller than the others. The boy tried to avert his gaze and pretend that Michael wasn’t there, but like the old wives’ tale about snakes, he could mesmerize those who met him until their blood stopped flowing, frozen in the veins. The tall boy backed up and turned tail, followed by his cronies. The small boy, much to his surprise, looked around to see if he was indeed responsible for the feat. Michael was halfway across the camp when he heard the distinct wheezing laugh of old, sick men. He turned to see the geezer, hunched over a crate-turned-stool. He was playing checkers with another old man, who was quieter and averted his gaze from any and all who looked on him. A small, white, and gray cat lay next to his feet, unperturbed by the putrid stench the two old men produced.

In Conclusion:

Automaton is a great book. The setting is fascinating and the exposition hits you the way it’s supposed to, with enough to hold back hunger pangs but not so much that you feel too full and take it for granted. This is a great technique of pacing similar to feedback I gave for my review of The Turqouise Serpent. It gives the reader enough to make them invested and interested while hungry to read further, hoping for more.

I’m still hungry for more and throughout the book I was talking to the author as I often do, asking questions about the setting. He is, to my great delight, planning this to be a trilogy. This is hands down probably the best original science fiction novel I’ve read in a pretty long time and would hold up well in a screen adaptation.

Where can you buy this book?

Automaton can be found on Amazon, just click this link

Check out the author, T.R. Hudson, on Twitter at @tr_hudson