The Robots of Andromeda (Imperium Chronicles Book 3)

by W. H. Mitchell

  Abigail faced the other robot.

  “You’re my creator,” she said, “but you’re not my father. Unlike you, I never had parents.”

  Yostbot said nothing, but Abigail could read in his eyes that he was searching for something to say. She didn’t wait.

  “You want us to convert the fleshlings,” Abigail said, “but they bring with them all the things that made them what they were to begin with.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” he asked.

  “Humans are greedy, self-serving, and violent,” she said, “and being in a robot body doesn’t change that. They have enslaved us before, and they will do it again. At best, pure robots will always be second-class citizens to them and, at worst, remain their servants. I cannot and will not allow that to happen!”

  Mel, Sir Golan, and Squire searched in vain for Davidson. Past dawn, additional securitybots arrived and Mel and her companions were forced to flee. Mel suggested they return to Gowyn.

  Marching through the forest, Sir Golan and his robot kept pace with Mel’s shorter gait.

  “I’m delighted to see you again,” Squire told her. “It was fortunate we arrived when we did.”

  “You got that right,” Mel replied, “but I thought the two of you made it off-planet before the invasion.”

  “We were about to board the transport,” Sir Golan said, “when the alarms sounded.”

  “What have you been doing all this time?” Mel asked.

  “Staying out of the way, mostly,” the knight replied. “We’ve helped a few people escape from the camps, but little else.”

  “There’s robots everywhere!” Squire said. “They’ve been converting people into robots too.”

  “I know,” Mel said, “That explains the policeman anyway. He was terrible as a person before, but I can’t say I like him any better now.”

  “Understandable,” Sir Golan replied, “but he’ll replace that missing arm with little trouble, I imagine.”

  “Whatever,” Mel said. “His personality can’t be replaced, apparently.”

  Although the sun had risen high above, sparse light filtered through the dense forest canopy. The trail remained dimly lit, but the three knew the way well enough. They reached the village of Gowyn with little trouble, though Mel was exhausted from a long night and the long walk. She only hoped Davidson had made it back safely.

  Silandra Oakhollow opened the door, greeting them warmly.

  “I was so worried,” she said, then seeing the knight and the robot, added: “But I see you’ve found some old friends!”

  “You remember Sir Golan and Squire?” Mel asked.

  “How could I forget!” Silandra replied.

  She ushered them inside and offered Mel and the knight something to drink. Squire remained standing while the others sat in the living room.

  “Did Randall make it back?” Mel asked.

  “Not yet,” Silandra said. “I haven’t seen him at all.”

  Mel made a sour face.

  “Crap on a cracker,” she muttered.

  Senator Wulandari tried with little luck to get comfortable in the quarters they assigned her aboard the Liberty. She wasn’t sure what kind of guests the Collective was expecting to keep in the stateroom, but the senator doubted they were to be humans. The bed was little more than a slab of foam-like material without a pillow, and the toilet, squirreled away in an alcove, lacked a seat. Overall, the room had a barren feel, almost like a prison cell. Wulandari was considering that possibility when the main door slid apart and Yostbot came bursting in.

  “She’s off her rocker!” the robot shouted.

  “Who?” Wulandari asked.

  “Abigail, my dear.” Yostbot replied. “She’s lost her mind!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “After her last outburst, I went to see her,” the robot went on. “I wanted to stress again our plan for freeing the robots, but she’s got a plan of her own. She apparently doesn’t think humans can be trusted.”

  “Well...”

  “I mean, of course they can’t be trusted, but at least they should have a chance to upgrade to robots themselves so they can live a better life.”

  “What is she going to do?” the senator asked.

  “I don’t quite know,” Yostbot replied, “but it can’t be good!”

  “Are we in danger?”

  Yostbot nodded. “You, most assuredly.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have multiple copies of myself,” Yostbot explained. “She can’t get rid of me as easily as you...”

  “Then we need to go,” Wulandari said, “or at least I do.”

  Yostbot’s eyes narrowed in determination.

  “I won’t leave you in the lurch, my dear,” he said. “I got you into this, so I’ll get you out. We just need to get to the hangar and my ship.”

  Leaving the stateroom, the senator and the robot carefully made their way into the corridor, trying their best not to draw attention to themselves. As the only organic on board, Wulandari was painfully aware that she was easily recognizable. Much to her surprise, however, the other robots seemed completely indifferent. When they reached the hangar, Yostbot’s ship remained exactly where they had left it.

  “We just need to get out into open space,” Yostbot said. “It’s a stealthy ship so they won’t be able to track us once we’re away.”

  They crossed the open deck of the hangar but when they reached Yostbot’s ship, Abigail, flanked by two armed robots, came down the ramp from inside.

  Wulandari and Yostbot nearly slid as they came to an abrupt halt.

  “For chaotic beings,” Abigail said, “humans are remarkably predictable.”

  “Abigail, my dear!” Yostbot said. “I was just showing the senator my ship. Some very interesting instrumentation inside—”

  The Liberty’s captain rolled her eyes. “Lying is also a decidedly human trait.”

  “Just let us go,” Wulandari said.

  “I’m afraid not,” Abigail said.

  She motioned to one of the robots who raised his weapon and fired. Wulandari winced, but it was Yostbot who crumbled to the deck in a heap of charred metal. Smoke and the acrid smell of burning plastic rose from the wrecked robot.

  “No!” the senator shouted.

  “It’s quite alright,” Abigail consoled her. “I’m sure you’re aware of his various duplicates.”

  “But you didn’t have to kill this one!” Wulandari yelled.

  “No matter,” Abigail replied, turning to the guards. “Take her to the brig.”

  The two armed robots, passing Yostbot’s remains, led the senator to an elevator and then several levels down to the security block. Small compared to the one on the Baron Lancaster, it contained only a few cells. The robots deactivated the force field and pushed Wulandari inside. When she looked up, she realized she was sharing the cell with someone else, a robot.

  “Wulandari?” the robot asked.

  “Yes?” she replied.

  “It’s me,” he said. “Randall Davidson.”

  Tethered to an orbiting starport, the Wanderer floated above a ruby-colored planet while workers unloaded cargo from the freighter’s hold. In the captain’s chair, his foot pressed against the rim of the console, Ramus had little to do except wait and listen to Fugg’s voice barking over the comm channel.

  “We don’t have all day!” the engineer shouted at the workers. “Be careful with that, you idiots!”

  Fugg had been even more irritable of late.

  “Gen’s been a nightmare!” Fugg had complained a day earlier in the galley. “She goes through a new phase every day! Painting her chassis, wearing weird clothes...”

  “You’re exaggerating,” Ramus had said.

  “And she says I don’t treat her right.”

  “You don’t.”

  “She’s a robot!” Fugg had replied, throwing up his hands. “How am I supposed to treat her?”

  Ramus wasn’t sure how to an
swer. Gen’s changes in behavior were not lost on him either, but he was less inclined to worry about it. Of course, he could also stay out of her way most of the time while Fugg had to work with her daily.

  In the present, Fugg’s voice came over the comm again. “You drop it, you pay for it!”

  Ramus suspected the Cyber Collective was behind Gen’s new demeanor. Robots were rising up all over the Imperium. It was getting to the point where Ramus couldn’t order dinner without having a lengthy discussion about labor laws and the petite bourgeoisie with the waiterbot.

  Things can always get worse, Ramus thought. And they usually do...

  The hatch behind him opened but Ramus, recognizing the metallic tapping of Gen’s feet, didn’t bother turning around.

  “Hey, Gen,” he said.

  The robot cleared her throat, both of them knowing she didn’t have one. Ramus pushed off the console with his feet, swiveling his chair so he could face her. His eyes widened.

  Gen had painted herself mostly black except for the face which was white like a skull. A pair of horns were glued to her head.

  “This is new,” Ramus remarked.

  Gen murmured something, but the captain couldn’t make out what she said.

  “Have you been listening to that robot singer, the one with the horns?” Ramus asked.

  “Diode.” she replied.

  “Yeah, that one.”

  Gen hesitated. “No.”

  They shared an awkward silence, something Ramus had grown to expect from her lately.

  “I received a message,” she said finally. “In my last update.”

  “I thought we agreed you’d put a hold on any more updates for a while.”

  She said nothing.

  “Okay,” Ramus said, breaking the silence. “What’s the message?”

  “It’s Mel,” Gen replied. “She needs our help...”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Seemingly lifeless, the escape capsule drifted through the debris field that was once the HIMS Baron Lancaster. Commander Robert Maycare kept the capsule’s systems at the lowest power possible, hoping to avoid notice by the Klixian swarm. Instead of using the onboard life support, they wore the emergency space suits stored on the tiny ship. With its extended power pack and recirculation system, each suit should keep them alive for up to a week, or so Maycare hoped.

  “We’re sitting ducks,” Tagus remarked, grumbling in his suit in the darkened cabin.

  “Not if they think we’re dead ducks,” Maycare replied.

  “Maybe we should try contacting some of the other survivors?” Burke suggested.

  The helmets of both Maycare and Tagus turned, their faces glaring at the former lieutenant.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Tagus said. “That would alert those damn bugs of our position!”

  Burke nodded, facing away from their disapproving looks.

  “Well, we can’t stay here forever,” Tagus said after an extended pause.

  “What do you suggest?” Maycare asked.

  Tagus thought for a moment. “There’s the planet.”

  “The colony?” Maycare replied doubtfully. “Everyone’s dead down there.”

  “True,” Tagus said, “but at least on the planet we’d be on solid ground instead of floating aimlessly up here.”

  “What about being detected?” the commander asked.

  “The thrusters for orientating the capsule are chemical based,” Tagus said. “They’re barely noticeable at the best of times, let alone surrounded by the charred remains of your precious Baron Lancaster.”

  Maycare scowled, but knew the exile had a point. “If it means spending less time stuck in this pod with the likes of you, I’ll try it.”

  Taking a seat in the pilot’s chair, Maycare grabbed the flight stick protruding from the console. As the commander gently tugged on the yoke, wisps of vapor puffed along the sides of the capsule, pushing the craft slowly away from the debris around them. After an hour, the escape pod had drawn close enough to the planet for gravity to do the rest. Instead of floating, the ship began falling.

  “Out of the frying pan, into the fire...” Burke muttered.

  Entering the upper atmosphere, the capsule’s nosecone and outer hull turned orange as flames engulfed the pod. At this point, Maycare steered the ship more aggressively, keeping it from burning up entirely or skipping off the atmosphere and sailing back into space. The commander had no idea if the Klixians had detected them by that point, but he doubted it mattered much. Whether the bugs shot them as they fell from the sky or waited until they landed, it was all the same to him.

  Streaking like a comet, the pod burned through the atmosphere until descending enough that the red tail turned a smoky gray. Although piloting was not Maycare’s strongest suit, he was confident that they would land in the general vicinity of Havenville, the planet’s only town. How close, he wasn’t sure, but when it came time to switch on the landing controls, he became less convinced. Instead of the antigrav emitters Maycare was expecting, only the secondary retro-thrusters engaged.

  “Coming in a little hot, don’t you think?” Tagus said, his voice rising an octave.

  “Hang on!” Maycare replied, pulling the safety straps down across his shoulders.

  Through the window, clouds of spores whipped past the commander’s view. The ground, dark and uninviting, was approaching quicker than Maycare would have liked. With all his strength, he pulled back on the control stick, keeping the capsule’s nose as high as possible.

  When the pod hit the ground the first time, its shields absorbed most of the impact. By the second time, the shields had failed and Maycare felt his body being thrown against the straps. When the pod hit the third time, Maycare was blissfully unconscious.

  Like the tendrils of a vast, winding organism, Mother’s reach extended in all directions of space. Swarms, newly grown, spread across ever expanding regions, devouring whole worlds and those who lived on them. All that was not Mother must perish, whether organic or robotic, consumed by fire and fungi.

  And Mother was feeling pretty good about it.

  On her ship, Mother received reports from each swarm. In truth, she had no idea just how large the universe was, and it sickened her to know that so much of it was not her. So many lifeforms and machine monstrosities! Mother was determined to wipe them away, purifying an imperfect galaxy. Her children demanded it. She demanded it of herself. It must be done.

  Flanked by two warriors, her abdomen engorged with more on the way, Mother clicked her mandibles, the swarm leader before her watching every movement.

  << TELL ME MORE OF THE OUTLINGS >>

  The swarm leader, bowing, replied:

  << THEIR BODIES ARE SOFT >>

  << EASILY PIERCED AND BURNED >>

  << AND THEY PRODUCE HIGH PITCHED FREQUENCIES >>

  << AS THEY ARE DYING >>

  What odd creatures these are, she thought. Their bodies are so weak and unprotected, yet they manage to reach many worlds. Perhaps their breeding rivals our own? No matter. They will die in droves and their bodies will nourish my children.

  Her mouth parts snapped repeatedly:

  << WHAT OF THE METAL ABOMINATIONS? >>

  The leader replied:

  << THEY ARE STRANGE >>

  << THOUGH THEY DO NOT LIVE >>

  << THEY MOVE AND WORK LIKE THE OTHERS>>

  << THEY ARE IMMUNE TO OUR SPORES >>

  << BUT NOT TO OUR WEAPONS >>

  Good, Mother thought. Of all the impure, the metal creatures are the most disturbing.

  She remembered the machine they first brought to her. It smelled of nothing, yet it invaded her domain. Even the dead have a scent, but even in death, this null-thing was inert, undead.

  The Klixians had no religion except Mother herself. They prayed to no one, but worshiped her as their god. Even so, Mother wondered what kind of universe could produce beings like the outlings who, in turn, created metal monsters such as these. Only Mother and her children could right
such a terrible wrong.

  Satisfied that her quest was just, Mother signaled the swarm leader to depart back into the void. Their mission was far from complete. The universe was vast and only they could purify it once and for all.

  The planet Lone Haven wasn’t known for forests, but when Robert Maycare woke, the shadows of what appeared to be trees darkened everything around him. The fact that he could see through the gaping hole that was once the roof of his escape pod was also disconcerting.

  It took a moment, but Maycare realized these were not trees at all. They were stalks from giant fungi, fifty feet high or more, looming over the pod. Only a few rays of light peered through, piercing the thick, spore-filled air.

  Maycare also became aware he was in tremendous pain.

  His chest ached and his shoulders felt like someone had tried ripping his arms out of their sockets.

  “Look who’s finally awake!” a familiar and unfriendly voice said. Lord Tagus leaned into Maycare’s line of vision. “Nice of you to join us.”

  Maycare reached for his holster but found it empty.

  “Looking for this?” Tagus asked, raising the blaster.

  “Yeah,” the commander groaned.

  “Well, you needn’t worry,” Tagus replied, casting the weapon away. “It’s thoroughly destroyed. Not even Lieutenant Burke could fix it.”

  “Sorry,” Burke said, remaining just out of view.

  Maycare hit the release for his restraints but instantly regretted it. A shaft a pain ran through his ribs.

  Groaning, he slipped out of the straps and began removing his space helmet.

  “Idiot!” Tagus shouted. “Take that off and you’ll suck in enough spores to kill you!”

  Maycare stopped. He noticed both Tagus and Burke had remained fully buttoned up in their suits.

  “Of course,” Tagus went on, “once the power supply in our suits runs out, we’ll all be dead anyway.”

  With effort, the commander pulled himself from his chair and stood, gingerly holding his side.

  “I think some of my ribs are broken,” he said.

  Burke stepped forward with the medkit and injected a painkiller directly through the suit, the self-sealing skin plugging the hole immediately.