“Retreat!” the Captain groaned, but both the Operations and Tactical Officers were sprawled on the deck, either dead or dying. No one replied to his order.
Now alone, the Captain took a step toward the navigational controls, but stopped, feeling intense pain along his arms. Staring at his hand, the skin began to bubble as the hard radiation cooked him from the inside. His legs gave out and the Captain stumbled to the floor, joining the other dead officers.
After Squire and Sir Golan left, Mel went back to her workbench and began repairing a random device she’d been puttering around with lately. She heard a metallic tapping on the steel door of her shop. Mel assumed Squire had forgotten something, but when she opened the door, she saw a different android. She realized right away he had a gravitronic brain. His eyes gazed back at hers with a level of awareness that regular robots simply didn’t have.
“Can I help you?” Mel asked.
“Mel, you’re in terrible danger!” the robot said.
Skeptically, Mel eyed the android. “Is that a fact?”
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
“Afraid not,” Mel replied.
“It’s me,” he said. “Randall Davidson.”
Mel had first met Davidson while he was still human a few years before. Working for the Robot Freedom League, he used Eudora Prime as a launching point for smuggling robots over the border into the Cyber Collective. When the Collective’s leader, the Omnintelligence, suddenly refused to allow gravitronic robots to enter, Mel and the crew of the Wanderer helped Davidson and an android named Jericho get to Bettik in hopes of reasoning with the OI. The last time Mel had seen Davidson was on Bettik as he lay lifeless in a chair with a smoldering blaster wound in the center of his chest. At the time, his consciousness had been connected to the nodesphere, which allowed them to download his persona into Jericho’s gravitronic brain. His human body had died, but his personality lived on in robotic form. Unfortunately for Mel, she had fallen in love with the original Randall Davidson, and this new form was more than her heart could take.
Davidson remained on Bettik to become the Metal Messiah while Mel returned home.
Realizing her mouth was hanging ajar, Mel collected herself. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Davidson nodded. “I know.”
“Well, come in,” she replied.
Mel closed the door behind him. He stood silently in the middle of her workshop. Neither spoke for an agonizing number of seconds.
“Why are you here?” she asked finally.
“I had to flee Bettik,” Davidson replied. “Dyson Yost’s forces have taken over and I’m sure they would’ve killed me if I had stayed.”
“Dyson Yost?”
“Yes,” the android said. “He’s responsible for the revolution that overthrew the Omnintelligence and now he’s done the same to me.”
“What the hell for?” Mel asked.
“He wants to free the robots, not just in the Collective, but in the Imperium too.”
“But he built most of them...”
“It’s complicated,” Davidson replied, “but now his forces are here in the Eudora system and they’ll be landing soon. You’ve got to get out of here!”
“Whoa there,” Mel said. “Is this some kind of joke? Did Orkney Fugg put you up to this?”
The robot grabbed her by the shoulders. “This isn’t a joke, Mel! I’m really Davidson and I’m here to rescue you!”
Mel’s heart skipped a beat, but then she grew angry.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouted. “First you leave me for a bunch of robots and now you show up out of nowhere and say you’re going to rescue me? Who says I need rescuing!”
Davidson released his grip.
“You’re right,” he replied quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Mel rolled her eyes.
“It’s alright,” she sighed. “Is everything you said really true?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, what are you waiting for?” she shouted. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
On the Liberty’s command deck, Eudora Prime monopolized much of the view screen. Captain Abigail stared absentmindedly at the image, thinking of the battle ahead. One of the other officers appeared at her side.
“The landing forces are ready,” he said. “Awaiting your orders.”
“I always wanted to be a warbot,” Abigail replied.
“Captain?”
“I wish I could be going down there,” she went on. “Imagine the thrill!”
The officer remained silent, gazing at his commanding officer with a certain mild confusion.
“Anyway,” Abigail said after a pause, “launch the transports...”
From the hangar bay of the Liberty, bulky ships looking like oversized turtles lifted off the deck and methodically departed into open space. The transports lumbered into a low orbit above the planet. Doors opened along the bottom of each transport, revealing rows of circular launchers, each twenty feet across. One by one, capsules ejected from the launchers and floated toward the planet. Descending through the atmosphere, the capsules turned a bright orange as fire whipped across their smooth, metallic exteriors. Dozens of them, dropping from the sky like burning hailstones, fell toward the surface. By the time they had reached thirty thousand feet, the capsules had cooled enough that they no longer glowed. By ten thousand feet, reverse thrusters erupted, slowing the descent until, a little less than a mile from the ground, each capsule burst open, splitting in half and falling away to reveal a warbot inside.
A parachute unfurled from the top of each robot, softly lowering the warbot to the surface.
As a member of Freedom for All, the utilitybot had the pick of positions available in the new Cyber Collective government. However, when Abigail offered him the chance to be a warbot, he didn’t hesitate. Granted, he knew next to nothing about being a killer robot, but he was eager to learn and after downloading a crash course on the subject, he was confident that he could destroy as well as the best of them.
After boarding the Liberty, the utilitybot remained in his gravitronic body until the ship had crossed the border. Shortly before Abigail ordered the landing on Eudora Prime, the utilitybot arrived at a narrow chamber full of gravitronic robots lying in reclining chairs. A thick data cable stretched from each robot’s head into a conduit running down the center of the room. Wasting no time, the utilitybot laid back in an empty chair while a techbot secured a cable into his brain. While the process was not painful, the utilitybot could sense the Liberty’s main systems reaching into his mind.
Hello, he thought, but no one replied.
He closed his eyes and felt as if his body was rushing along like something flushed down the toilet. Granted, the utilitybot had never needed a toilet, but he was vaguely familiar with the concept.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in darkness. Instead of his usual two legs, he now had four, each folded underneath. Running a system diagnostic, he became aware of a pair of maser cannons, one on either side of his body. Flipping on his optics, the utilitybot had a variety of options including something called FLIR. Activating it, he saw nothing but the smooth interior of an egg-like container.
Not much of a view, he thought.
A short time later, this changed dramatically when his protective shell plummeted through the atmosphere and his “egg” split in two. With a strong tug, a parachute opened above him, leaving him suspended over the rapidly approaching landscape of Eudora Prime and thankful he lacked a digestive tract.
What struck the utilitybot most, while floating to the ground, was the beauty. Green trees and winding blue rivers were visible, as well as a city with bright neon lights. For the most part, the utilitybot had never actually seen flora before. The breeze blowing across his sensors was also novel. There was no need for air flow on Bettik.
As he descended, both his new legs and weapon systems extended. Even as he still hung from his parachute, he noticed trac
ers rising up to greet him. The shots were wildly inaccurate, but the utilitybot decided to give his maser cannons a quick test. Lining up his tracking system, he pointed both barrels at the origin of the fire and let loose a prolonged burst of deadly rays. The beams, lancing downward, set a section of woods ablaze, the dark smoke billowing into the sky. No one fired again from that position.
The utilitybot’s four legs easily absorbed the heavy landing once he reached the surface. The parachute, once detached, drifted away in the light wind. All around the utilitybot, other robots were joining him from above. As a group, they started toward the city called Technotown.
Being a warbot was a unique experience, which entailed a lot of shooting and watching things explode. It was exciting, the utilitybot thought. Much more interesting than his life in the service tunnels.
Fleshlings, the first the robot had ever seen in person, were reluctant to make friends. Most either fired weapons at him or ran burning in one direction or another. Most were humans but a few were other races. It was interesting to see all the different kinds. All of them, however, appeared susceptible to intense heat and flames.
Passing along a street called Emporia, the utilitybot dodged a pile of rubble that fell from a collapsing building across the road. Dust and floating debris filled the air, partially obstructing the robot’s view. When the smoke settled, the utilitybot noticed one of the signs painted on a wall that had not completely crumbled. It read,
ARE YOU LIVING
YOUR BEST LIFE?
Hmmm, the warbot thought for a moment. Yes, I suppose I am!
He fired his maser cannons again, sending bolts of energetic death into the distance.
Chapter Fourteen
The HIMS Baron Lancaster, a heavy cruiser of the Imperial Navy, patrolled a stretch of empty space along the Imperial border, not far from the planet Bhasin on the other side. Over 900 yards long, the wedge-shaped warship had a soaring superstructure, like an armored citadel, rising above its surrounding hull. Inside the tower, Lord Captain Martin Redgrave arrived on the bridge, having spent much of the morning reading reports in his ready room. Redgrave was in his early fifties, with gray hair and deep wrinkles around his eyes. He wore a steel blue uniform with gold piping and a tall collar. A cape draped down his back.
“Lord Captain on deck!” his first officer, Lord Commander Robert Maycare, shouted. Several years younger than the captain, Maycare had dark hair cut short along the sides and slightly longer on top. The commander was also the nephew of Lord Devlin Maycare.
“Report,” the captain replied, settling into his command chair.
“We’ve detected a distress call coming from a transport,” Maycare said. “We should be within comm range shortly.”
“What’s a transport doing way out here?” the captain asked.
“That’s the thing,” Maycare replied, “we traced its origin back to Bhasin, the exile planet.”
“Hmmm,” Redgrave murmured.
“They’re within range now,” the Communications Officer said.
“Open a channel,” the captain replied.
The main screen changed from a field of stars to a sharp-featured, disgruntled face. Redgrave recognized it immediately.
“Rupert,” the captain said, “what the hell are you doing here?”
Tagus scowled at the camera. “Is that you, Martin? I should have known...”
“You’re in direct violation of your terms of exile,” Redgrave replied sternly. “You can be executed for this!”
“I’m damn well aware of that, Captain!” Tagus shouted. “But I’ve come with a warning, so you better listen to what I have to say!”
Redgrave motioned to cut the transmission. The face of Lord Tagus disappeared.
“Dock with the transport and take Tagus directly to the brig,” the captain told Maycare.
“Do you think Lieutenant Burke is with him?” the first officer asked.
“Former lieutenant, you mean?” Redgrave replied. “If he is, put him in a cell too. They can face a firing squad together for all I care!”
The Lancaster drew alongside the tiny transport, docking at one of the airlocks. As the captain had ordered, Imperial Marines escorted Tagus and Burke to a pair of cells where they remained for several hours before Redgrave determined they had cooled their heels long enough. When the captain arrived, Tagus’ face was a bright crimson.
“How dare you keep me waiting!” he shouted at Redgrave, standing on the other side of a bluish, translucent force field.
“You were always an arrogant bastard,” the captain replied simply. An audible gasp came from Burke in the adjoining cell.
“Your insolence will not go unpunished!” Tagus hissed like a simmering kettle.
“I’ve flushed bigger turds than you out the airlock,” Redgrave replied. “Now what do you want?”
“I hesitate to bother at this point,” Tagus said, “but I’ve come to warn you about an impending danger to the Imperium!”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve encountered some kind of insectoid race on Bhasin,” Tagus continued. “It attacked and wiped out the entire exile population.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, you imbecile!” Tagus fumed. “If you don’t do something about it, they will undoubtedly come here next!”
“It’s true, Lord Captain,” Burke said from the neighboring cell. “Everyone was dead.”
Redgrave raised an eyebrow.
“Well, you’ll pardon my skepticism,” he said, “but I’m going to need a little more proof than the word of two exiled criminals.”
Tagus pounded his fist against the force field, getting an electric shock for his trouble.
“Idiot!” he yelled.
“Why don’t you just wait here a while,” the captain said, “while we try to contact Bhasin. We’ll get this sorted out, one way or another. In the meantime, you should consider what you want for your last meal...”
Jessica Doric, her face frozen in concentration, examined the device they had found on Pellium D. Books from the shelves around her in Lord Maycare’s estate library were stacked like battlements near the lantern-shaped relic. Henry Riff’s unkempt hair, barely visible, poked up from behind the books on the other side of the table.
Doric took the scanner she was holding, a small box with a display on the front, and ran it back and forth over the relic. Scrutinizing the results, she slammed the scanner back on the table. “It’s hopeless!”
Henry nearly jumped out of his chair, dropping the book he was reading which landed on the floor with a clunk.
“Sorry,” Doric said. “I just don’t know what to do!”
Henry leaned awkwardly down to get the book and placed it gingerly on the table.
“Well,” he said, “it must do what it does somehow...”
“But what does it do, exactly?”
“It picks up music,” Henry replied, “like some kind of radio.”
“Only from one person — a giant — and it hasn’t done anything since!” Doric said. “There’s no moving parts and it’s made from a solid piece of material that we can’t identify!”
With his usual sense of timing, Lord Devlin Maycare appeared through the doorway, his hair slicked back with every strand in their most ideal position. Seeing Doric, he raised his hands in surprise.
“What’s the matter, Jess?” he said cheerfully. “Making any progress?”
“No!” Doric replied.
“Did you do that thing I suggested?” Maycare asked.
“Kicking it didn’t do anything,” Doric said.
“Really?” Maycare replied. “Did you try kicking it harder?”
Doric produced a long, agonized sigh and shook her head. “No!”
“Well, I’m all out of ideas,” he admitted.
Henry, in his meek way, raised a finger. “Maybe we could ask the Pool of Memory?”
Maycare laughed. “I don’t think that old Dahlvish Abbot will talk to us again. He see
med kinda prickly...”
“Actually,” Doric said hesitantly, “I’ve been corresponding with the Abbot for a while now.”
“What?” Maycare replied. “Why would you do that?”
“I’ve always admired Dahlvish history,” she said.
“You have?” Maycare said.
“I’ve mentioned it several times!” she replied.
Maycare scratched the back of his head without disturbing his hair’s perfect alignment. “I don’t think so...”
Doric leveled her eyes at him.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I might be able to persuade the Abbot, but Henry and I should go by ourselves.”
Maycare raised an eyebrow. “What? Why shouldn’t I come?”
Doric remained silent.
“Well?” Maycare asked again.
“The Abbot doesn’t like you,” Doric replied.
“But I’m handsome and charming! What’s not to like?”
Doric stared at the floor. “I’ve no idea...”
Officer Rawlins had belonged to the Regalis Police Department for over ten years. As part of the Tactical Unit, he wore a black uniform with pockets for things like loose credit sticks and vials of tear gas. Over Rawlins’ heart, the badge of the Regalis PD included three words:
HONORIS
OFFICIUM
INTEGRITAS
During the academy, they told the young cadets what those words meant, but Officer Rawlings had long since forgotten. Sitting in a bathroom stall at the 88th Precinct, he asked the officer in the neighboring stall a question, “How do you tell a peacebot from a killbot?”
“I dunno,” the other man replied.
“The peacebots are painted blue!” Rawlings said, chuckling.
Officer Rawlins finished up and, failing to wash his hands, passed from the bathroom into an area full of lockers. Opening his own, he admired his mustache in a small mirror on the door. He tweezed a few hairs from his gaping nostrils and nodded with general satisfaction.
Lookin’ good, he thought.
By the time the shooting started, Rawlins had already strapped on a utility belt that included his sidearm, a blaster pistol, and a communicator. When he heard blaster fire, he thought it was a joke at first until everyone began running. He didn’t run. The Tac Unit never ran. He calmly closed his locker, drew his pistol, and went looking for trouble.
The Robots of Andromeda (Imperium Chronicles Book 3) Page 16
