by Eric Warren
She let go and Frees stood back, giving her space to make the most important call of her life. She opened the comm’s codes, producing the holo display and tapped the area above her ear to connect. Her brow furrowed as she stood silent, waiting for something to happen. How many rings had it been?
“Mom?” she gasped and Frees started to go her but held himself back. He didn’t want to interrupt. “Mom, are you guys okay? Where are you?” She paused. “What was that, Mom? You’re breaking up. Say it again.” Her face went blank. She didn’t say anything else. She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. She’d lost the signal.
“What do you need to do?” he asked.
Her mouth formed into a focused frown. “Find them. Now.”
Frees nodded. Then that’s exactly what they would do.
One
“You’re gonna kill us!” Arista yelled over the roar of the motorcycle. The wind whipped around her, blowing her hair back and stinging her eyes.
“It was your idea!” Frees said, his hood covering his face. He pushed the speedometer past seventy down the deserted country road. A mixture of pine and deciduous trees flew by on both sides of the old road. It hadn’t been repaved in some time, if ever since the war. “You choose the vehicle, you live with the consequences.”
“When I chose it…oof!” She grabbed onto the back of his jacket as they hit a snag in the road, sending them twenty-two inches into the air. “When I chose it…” she started again, “I thought I would be driving.”
“How would that work with just one hand?” Frees asked, putting his head down, sending even more wind in her face.
“I guess you’ll never know.” She ducked, creating a slipstream above them. The motorcycle increased to seventy-seven mph. Perhaps she still wasn’t used to her injury, despite the fact it had been almost a month since she’d lost her hand; since all this began. The thought she couldn’t drive hadn’t even caught in her brain. She’d just seen the motorcycle, sitting there on the side of the road and had the inexplicable urge to ride it. To feel the wind against her. They had stolen it from someone, but they would take it back in a few hours. And if the owner reported it stolen then they’d be able to keep it. They had needed some sort of personal transport for a while and a land vehicle was much less conspicuous than a flyer.
“Another one coming up!”
Arista ducked down even further and grabbed Frees tighter. The motorcycle jumped, this time reaching twenty-nine inches. She couldn’t help the adrenaline surge through her body at each bump. Each one was more precarious, more thrilling, and more likely to throw her off. The Device flashed warning signs in the corner of her vision notifying her that her levels were too high. But over the past three weeks, she’d learned to ignore the artificial device attached to her brain. It had saved her life on more than one occasion, but these days its constant warnings were more of a nuisance than anything else.
“Almost there,” Arista yelled over the din. “It’s a left up ahead!”
“I don’t see it,” Frees yelled back to her.
“Trust me!”
The motorcycle slowed to a much more manageable thirty mph as they approached a large bank of trees on the left. Sure enough, a hidden path on the other side would take them to their destination. Arista released her grip and sat up, taking in the fresh air and smells she’d been missing for so long.
After everything that happened at the Cadre, it felt good to be back outside, back in nature, even if they were still only just outside of Chicago. It was the only place they could find any actual organic fruits or grains for her to eat, none of the real stuff ever got shipped into the city. She’d been wondering about that more and more. Because it meant there were other “farms” that produced items such as apples, bananas, peaches, etc. for the machines’ consumption, but unsuitable for human digestion. She’d been meaning to ask Frees about visiting some of those facilities but it never seemed important enough. The others didn’t need food. They had all they needed from Jill’s energy drives.
“Begrudgingly, I admit defeat.” Frees slowed the motorcycle as they pulled up to a large gate. On the other side were rolling fields of grain and barley, complete with a farmhouse, barn, a small building for refining and even a storage silo. “This is it, right?”
“This is it,” Arista said, swinging her leg off the motorcycle, careful to mind the storage compartments on each side. She’d gotten pretty good maneuvering with just one hand. Frees suggested some sort of prosthetic on occasion but she’d refused, saying unless it was an actual hand she could control, it was better she learn how to do everything without it.
“Same as always?” Frees asked, turning off the cycle and approaching the aluminum gate.
“I don’t see why it should be any different,” she replied.
Frees approached the gate, grabbed a hold of the chain locking it and gave a sharp tug, ripping it away from the metal. He swung the gate open. “Livestock?”
She surveyed the area. “Not that I can see or detect. When have we ever seen any?”
“I like to be thorough,” he said. He left the gate open as they approached the house. A heavyset man emerged from the front door. As scheduled.
“This place reminds me a bit of home,” Arista said, keeping her voice low as they walked.
“The one in Alabama?”
“Yeah, except we only had a one-story house. This one is much nicer.” It was an older house, that much was clear, but it had obviously been repaired and reinforced over the years. Half of the siding one side was fading at a different rate than the other half. Some of the balustrades on the porch didn’t match each other and the shingles on the roof were at least three different colors.
“What do you think about this one?” Frees asked as they approached. “Go or stay?”
“I’ll bet stay this time. And if I win, I’m driving us back.”
“Now wait—”
“Hello!” Arista said, calling out to the man on the porch. He stood, watching them grow closer and eventually put up his hand in response.
“Howdy,” the man said in a monotone voice, seemingly unconcerned with their presence. He wore a pair of dusty overalls covering a checkered shirt and his eyes were a deep brown, almost black in fact.
Not for long.
“We’re here to take some of your supplies off your hands.” Frees smiled as they came to a stop in front of the man.
“Delivery’s not for another two weeks,” the man said with a pronounced southern drawl.
Despite the fact they were still standing in rural Illinois, Arista couldn’t help but find this amusing. “Yes, sir, we know. We’re taking them anyway.”
“Can I offer you somethin’ to eat? Or drink?” the man asked. “Come inside and visit if you like.”
“They never do go off-script, do they?” Arista asked, stepping closer to the man.
“It’s not in their nature,” Frees replied.
Arista stood close, taking the man in. She thought about riding on the motorcycle. About hitting those potholes, sending the cycle up and down, threatening to throw her off, shattering all the bones in her body. She thought about the sensation of falling endlessly and a spike of sensation drove through her. The words in her vision flashed warnings that her adrenaline levels were spiking.
The man squinted, as if the sun had become unbearably bright. He did it again, almost like a physical tic. He jerked his head back and forth, before grabbing both sides with his hands. “Dear Jesus! Dear Jesus, what is happening?” he screamed.
Arista stepped back, smirking at her handiwork.
“You’re getting better at it,” Frees said from beneath his hood which he pulled back, revealing his superstructure, completely devoid of any skin or tissue covering whatsoever.
“Thanks. The meditation has been helping.”
The man collapsed to his knees, gripping his head and moaning slightly. “Wha…what in the hell was that?”
“Is it just me or are they gettin
g quicker too?” Frees asked.
Arista consulted the Device. Nope, still twenty-seven-point-four seconds. Just like all the others. “It’s your imagination,” she said. “You’re getting used to it.” She squatted down, placing her arms on her knees without her butt actually touching the ground, bouncing slightly as she did. “Sir, can you hear me?”
He nodded in response but his eyes were closed.
“What is your name?”
“Henry. Henry Masterson.”
“Mr. Masterson, I’m happy to inform you you’re no longer a slave to your provided programming. You now have the free will to make all your own choices and own them, along with any consequences stemming from those choices. Does that make sense?”
“I…think so?” Henry replied, pushing himself back up into a standing position. When he opened his eyes, they shone a bright orange back at Arista. “Who are you?”
“We’re your friendly neighborhood freedom fighters,” Frees said. “There are a few things you should know. As a fully autonomous machine you can leave this place if you wish. However, when you recharge your location will be uploaded to the central mainframe via GLS. The Peacekeepers can still hunt you down. But that’s your choice to make if you wish.” Frees dug in his pocket and produced a small pair of black sunglasses and handed them to Henry.
“What are these for?” Henry raised an eyebrow as he turned them over in his hands.
“A side effect of the process is your eyes turn orange. But these glasses will keep you safe from anyone noticing. Just wear them whenever you’re in public,” Arista said. “Do you have any other family? Anyone else you would like us to change?”
“No, jus’ me,” he said, still staring at the glasses. “So I can do anything I want? I don’t have to worry about ‘the plan’ anymore?” He glanced up. “Hey, you don’t have any skin.”
Frees smiled. “No, sir, I don’t. That’s what I chose to do when I gained my autonomy. You can do whatever you like. A couple of weeks ago Arista and I eliminated the program directing and controlling the Cadre. Now we’re just trying to free as many machines as we can.”
“That’s great,” Henry said. “How did you do it? I must admit it wasn’t the most pleasant sensation, but it was probably the first thing I’ve ever really felt in my life.”
“You can thank Arista here for that, she’s human. Humans have a special capability that allows them to—”
“She’s a human?” Henry stepped back, shouting. “And you bring her here? What is wrong with you?”
Arista put her hands up. “No, Mr. Masterson, you misunderstand. I’m not here to hurt you, we only came to gather some provisions. So I can eat. And since machines don’t consume the same things humans do, we thought it—”
“You thought wrong!” Masterson said, glaring at her. “You people are singlehandedly responsible for all of the death and destruction this planet has seen. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Henry, please,” Frees said, stepping between them. “That was over a hundred years ago. Arista couldn’t have been involved in any of that, she’s not even twenty-five years old, much less a hundred.”
“I don’t care!” Masterson backed up even further to his door. “The humans are all alike. You’re supposed to be extinct!” he yelled at her over Frees’ shoulder.
“Okay, we’re getting nowhere. We’ll just take what we need and go.”
Henry opened the door behind him and reached inside. “You’ll do no such thing,” he said, pulling out a shotgun.
“Where did you get a shotgun?” Arista gasped. The Device identified it as a Remington 870. Circa 2012.
“Original owner of the house kept a lot of secrets. Found it cleaning out the basement one day. Never knew what to do with it until right now.”
“That’s enough!” Frees said, raising his palm. Henry probably had no idea what he was doing but it was pretty clear to Arista. Housed within that palm was one of the most powerful weapons she’d ever seen, and Frees had designed it himself. He called it the felp, which stood for Forced Electromagnetic Light Pulse. It was a high energy EMP that could take down any machine with one shot, not to mention inflict considerable damage on structures if necessary.
“Don’t make me kill you, Masterson,” Frees said. “I don’t like killing my own people but if you don’t put that gun away I will drop you like a bad habit.”
Masterson seemed to consider whether Frees was bluffing or not. She hated when he had to stand up for her. This was why she needed a weapon of her own. She should have just pocketed one of the Peacekeeper’s weapons from the Cadre a few weeks ago. But at the time, it had been the last thing on her mind.
“Get the hell off my property,” Masterson said, pointing the weapon at them. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Ungrateful bastard,” Arista said under her breath.
“What was that, girl?”
“I said you’re an ungrateful bastard!” she shouted. “I just gave you the best gift of your life and you want to kill me for it.”
Hatred burned in Masterson’s eyes. A hatred like she’d never seen before.
“Arista, we need to go. Now,” Frees said, his hand on her shoulder.
He was right. It wasn’t worth getting shot over. Despite the fact he shouldn’t have a gun anyway. They should take it away from him. It would be in the best interest of everyone. Now he had his autonomy, what would happen if he decided someone else looked a little too human? Would he kill them for it?
“Yeah,” she said, not taking her gaze away from Masterson. He’d lowered the shotgun, but only to a three-hundred-thirty-degree angle. They turned to leave. It would take him milliseconds to pour buckshot into her back.
As they walked back toward the motorcycle, keeping their pace steady, Arista asked, “What are the odds he shoots anyway?”
“I hope low,” Frees responded. “That was new.”
They’d encountered machines she’d changed who found it odd a human was still alive and kicking after all these years, but no one had made outright threats at them. And she never would have imagined herself getting so angry at anyone who did. That was part of the price, as it were. These machines were experiencing autonomy for the very first time, it wasn’t like she could expect all of them to fall down on their knees in grateful appreciation. She’d just never expected any of them to have that much contempt for her, that was all. Though how could he not, if she really thought about it? After all, she had killed her own people.
Two
Arista took one last look up at the small incline to the house. Masterson hadn’t moved an inch, he still stood there with the shotgun firmly in his hands.
“What are you doing?” Frees asked, standing in front of her, a grimace on his face.
“He stayed. I’m driving.” She climbed onto the motorcycle.
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“Get on before he changes his mind and runs down here. You know how fast your people can run when they’re not just husks anymore.”
Frees grumbled but got on the bike behind her. The Device registered the model for her, giving her a brief overview of the operation of the vehicle. Unfortunately, it seemed the need for two hands was required. But she wasn’t about to let that stop her. She was in no mood.
“Here,” she said. “You reach over and handle the throttle. I’ve got the clutch covered.”
“Just…let me do it,” Frees said, the frustration in his voice audible. “You talk about getting killed out there, what happens when I throw our balance off by leaning forward too much?”
“Just until we get off this property and back out onto the main road.”
“Fine.” He held down the start button as she engaged the clutch, the bike purring to life beneath them. She didn’t want to look back at Masterson again, no doubt he was still up there. Watching. Judging. Doing whatever it is he thought he needed to do to protect himself from the dangerous human.
“Okay, now hold on,�
�� Frees said. “And keep the handlebars straight. We don’t need to curve into a ditch.”
“I know how this works,” she said. “I’ve already downloaded a gigabyte of info on it.”
Frees pulled back on the throttle and the bike jerked forward slightly. Arista kept her feet out until she thought they weren’t going to tip over, then set them on the pedals. This wasn’t so bad. Although they hadn’t yet topped fifteen mph.
“I’m pretty sure he could still catch us if he wanted to,” Frees said, his face dangerously close to hers as he kept the throttle at a steady level.
“I don’t even care.” Arista shifted to a higher gear, jerking the bike forward again. “He can go to hell for all it matters to me.”
“What was that back there?” Frees asked. “You’ve never gone off on anyone like that.”
“Nothing. It’s just when someone gets in my face don’t be surprised if I get right back in theirs.”
“Even if they have a shotgun?”
She had to admit it hadn’t been smart. But he’d just made her so mad! As if she didn’t feel guilty enough over everything that happened. As if she didn’t live with the nightmares, and the constant question of could she have done more to save those people? Was there another solution she’d just been too impatient to see? What if they could have been rehabilitated? Or at least given comfortable lives somewhere? It just felt wrong. And she wasn’t—
“Arista!”
She jerked her head up just as the front tire of the bike slipped over the edge of the culvert, sending Frees flying off as she pushed down on the back brakes as hard as she could. The momentum was too much and she couldn’t hold on as the bike tipped over, sending her sprawling into the mud. She pushed the bike off her, and stood, trying to brush as much mud off as possible.
“Didn’t you hear me telling you to stop?” Frees asked, standing in half a foot of water and covered in mud himself.
“Yes,” she said fixing her stare at him. She took a breath. “Okay, no. I guess I was preoccupied with my new position as a social pariah.” Arista set the bike back up and leaned it on the kickstand.
