by Max Carver
“If you can take over the machines' soldiers and ships,” he said, “we could bring the war to them. Never mind bombing a few reapers in the old clinic—”
“Hold your horses,” she said. “First, I did not take over the ship. I managed to get its security systems to ignore me, that's all. If I had changed its course or rammed it into one of the Carthaginian warships, the other machines would have bombed it and sunk it.”
“But you could do something like that? Take over a ship?”
“I could try. Odds are I'd be caught and killed, either during the attempt or immediately following, so it hasn't been high on my agenda to do that.”
“So what is high on this 'agenda'?” he asked, hoping he pronounced the unfamiliar word correctly. “What was so important you crossed an ocean for it? Because if it's Chicago deep-dish pizza, you're about twenty years too late.” Colt had never tried “Chicago deep-dish pizza” either, but he'd seen a number of signs advertising it. He'd once found a steel can labeled “pizza sauce” and found it full of sugary, cold, lumpy tomato mush. It had been one of the best meals of his life.
“I can't talk about it,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I don't know you,” she said. “I don't think you're an android, but I can't trust people I don't know.”
“Yeah, I get it. Are you with the rebels? Or maybe the metalheads? You don't look like a clanker. No implants.”
“We were looking to make contact with the rebels here in Chicago,” she said.
“Wait, who's 'we'?” he asked.
“I was here with... a friend. He crossed the ocean with me, stowed away together. We were a team. But a couple of reapers raided us one night. We took them down, but my friend was fatally injured. I had to bury him in rubble.” Her voice had grown hoarse and unsteady, and Colt gathered she was close to the guy.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“That's where I got the reaper,” she said. “It was damaged in our fight. But I've lost that, too. So now all I have is this pistol and a cutting laser.”
“All I have is this empty rifle,” he said. “So you're way ahead of the game.”
They reached the end of the concourse, where they could exit upstairs to another broken skyscraper or hop down into a subway tunnel and keep going. Colt always preferred to stay low.
“So, do your secret plans tell you where you need to go next?” he asked.
“Not exactly. We were holed up in an old tower where we could watch from the windows and monitor the city with binoculars and cameras, seeking signs of the rebels. Their battles with the Carthaginian machines were like beacons, showing us their areas of operations. We tried to reach out to them once, but they were suspicious and would not speak to us.”
“Yeah, the rebels are dangerous,” he said. “I'm always glad to hear about them destroying some metalheads, but they're also paranoid. The metalheads are always trying to infiltrate them with skinwalkers.” He thought of the clinic's shattered nurse robot, which had once been a “skinwalker” or human-like machine. Mohini seemed to prefer the term “android.”
“So you know the rebels in the area?” she asked.
“I know of them. I wouldn't go strolling into their camp for a friendly visit.” Colt did know a couple of people who had supposedly gone to join the rebels, orphans like himself gathered and cared for by Mother Braden. He hadn't seen them since they'd left and didn't know whether they'd actually succeeded in joining the rebellion, or even whether they were still alive.
“What if you had something valuable to offer?” Mohini asked.
“Like what?”
“I have to keep that classified.”
“After what I saw you do with the reaper, I can believe you have something to offer,” Colt said. “If you can find the rebels and get them to listen.”
“The second part was the problem,” she said. “But perhaps if you, a local, speak for me, they will give me more of a chance.”
“Maybe. Or perhaps if we, a couple of outsiders, just show up at their camp, they'll blast our heads off.”
“It seems like the humans in this land are as dangerous as the machines.”
“Is it not that way in England?” Colt looked around warily. They'd been talking more than moving. Somehow the girl kept distracting him, drawing his attention to her big, dark eyes, her strangely soft and smooth brown skin.
“Not as bad as this,” she said. “But it's pretty bad.”
“Come back with me,” Colt said.
“Back? To the clinic?”
“No. To my home. One of them. You'll be safe there for a while.”
“You're inviting me home with you?” A strange smile formed on her lips, as if she found this amusing. “Will your girlfriend be there?”
“My sister. We can wait and rest while I go ask a friend about the rebels. I can even speak to Mother Braden.”
“She's your mother?”
“She isn't really anyone's mother. She was a soldier in the old world. After the war, she started finding stray orphans who'd survived and taught us how to survive better. She's the only reason me and my sister are alive now.” He stopped talking about that, feeling he'd exposed too much of himself. “Anyway, if you want to come, you can. We could use your help.”
“How?”
“Teach us whatever you know about the machines.”
“That won't enable you to control them like I can. A lot of that depends on your hardware.”
“Yeah. Like your black sphere. Where'd you get that?”
“There are not more where this came from. This was an extremely lucky find. Once in a lifetime.”
“Like your plasma pistol.”
“Yep.”
“Come on.” Colt jumped down to the old underground railway, then held out his hands to help her down. “You can rest up and get a meal, at least. It's the closest thing to safety I can offer.”
She hesitated, then looked back and seemed to think about the dangers behind them.
“Here I come.” She jumped down. He caught her hips and eased her down to her feet. She stiffened at his touch.
“Sorry, I had to touch you that time.”
“It's fine. I'll live.” She raised her plasma pistol. “Lead the way.”
He adjusted his night vision goggles to their most sensitive setting as they started into the deep dark of the old tunnel. They would auto-tint in the event of sudden bright lights so he wouldn't get blinded in a gunfight.
Eventually, the tunnel would get too dark for the night vision goggles to work, and then they would be walking completely blind.
Chapter Six
Carthage
After driving off the high road and crashing through the safety wall, Audrey's car toppled toward the blocks of small apartment buildings below. Already, emergency lights were flashing in that area. The municipal AI would be issuing warnings, redirecting traffic, and sealing off approaches where possible.
Audrey braced herself for impact. “Nin, I don't want to die,” she whispered.
The malleable cushion surface drew in tight around her, providing a layer of protection. Emergency foam jetted from overhead nozzles and expanded quickly.
Outside, inflatable padding erupted and folded over the exterior of the car, creating another layer of impact protection, but also blocking her view of the world outside.
Then all she could see was thick, soupy foam. It reeked of strong chemicals, like a hospital floor. It would probably end up giving her cancer, she thought, if she survived the crash.
The car hit the ground, she assumed, because it bounced hard, and she ricocheted around inside the car, sloshing in the thick, awful-smelling foam.
The car hit the ground a second time and slid to a halt. Audrey spun in the center of the foam like a cat trapped in a washing machine. The foam absorbed the impact, but also forced its way into her ears, eyes, nose, and mouth in the most unpleasant manner.
“Audrey! Are you alive?” Nin's hand closed
on her arm.
Audrey went slack, feeling relief. Nin was here. Nin would take care of things.
Nin did. The android kicked open the car doors, then dragged Audrey out of the foam-filled interior into the open air and late-afternoon sunlight.
Audrey knelt on the sidewalk and vomited out the foam that had invaded her throat and stomach.
“Well,” she said, coughing, when she was finally done. “That was awful.”
“Can you stand?” Nin touched her shoulder gently.
“Maybe. Where are we?” Audrey stood with her android's help and wiped the foam out of her eyes. Apparently she'd bounced and slid along a pedestrian street, finally coming to a stop against a lamp post.
“Benefit Zone 3C,” Nin said, but Audrey could have guessed it by then. The ornate brick buildings, full of cherub-adorned archways, picture windows, and garden-lined walkways, were the handiwork of Audrey's grandmother, who had argued that some of the vast wealth flowing from Carthage's empire could be used for slum beautification.
Surely no one would call these areas slums now. They had durable, pleasant-looking apartment homes, with automated grocery delivery and even cook-bots and fix-bots shared by the community, plus swimming pools and gardens. Some of those had fallen into disrepair over the years, and the gardens had yellowed and filled with weeds, but it was just a matter of dispatching more maintenance bots, allocating a little more tax money.
Some of the locals had stepped out onto their balconies to look at the crash, leaving their entertainment media blaring behind them. The Benefit Zone residents wore caps and shirts dense with logos of sports teams, fast-food stands, and cereal mascots, clothing so cluttered with ads it was virtually free to buy.
“Did we hit anybody?” Audrey had some trouble keeping her balance, and her head ached. There was a ringing sound in the back of her skull.
“I don't think so. We damaged a lot of the cobblestone,” Nin said.
“That's fine,” Audrey said, not sure why she was saying it. Who cared about damage to the street? Robots would fix that. She was definitely confused.
Sirens approached, announcing the police. Windows up and down the street tinted black. The residents on the balconies backed inside and closed their doors.
“The police are coming,” Audrey said.
“Correct,” Nin said.
“We have to get out of here.” She swayed, relying on the android for balance, and looked down at herself. Covered in foam and vomit, staggering on her feet.
All she could think of was her mother screaming at her for showing up in the news media that way. Information moved lightning-quick through the celebrity gossip sites. If Audrey stuck around long enough and let anyone take images of her stumbling around covered in puke by a crashed car, she would catch hell from her mother for the rest of her life.
“Hire me a car,” she said. “Any quality as long as it's private, no sharing.”
“You need medical attention,” Nin said.
“Not as bad as I need to get out of here.”
“I have sent a request. The nearest emergency clinic—”
“You know we need something private.”
“Of course. The nearest appropriate clinic is three kilometers from here. What about the Security Steve unit?”
Audrey looked at her car, wrapped in a thick layer of inflated padding, which had sealed over the trunk lid. “It'll take too long to get him out. Let's go.”
“The car pickup will be this way.” Nin led her across the street, through an arcade between buildings, toward a long covered staircase.
As they descended the steps, flashing blue lights flooded the plaza they'd just left. Audrey looked back to see a police car arrive. A couple of Officer Joes hopped out to inspect the wreckage. The city's law-enforcement robots were designed to look like hyper-friendly neighborhood cops. Their heads were oversized and cartoonish like sports mascots, with big eyes and big grins that never wavered.
“The Officer Joe is built on the same chassis as the infantry reaper,” Audrey said, her dazed brain tossing up useless trivia. “My dad told me that.”
“The hired car approaches, Audrey,” Nin said.
“Good. Let's go.”
The next magnetic road was a block away. The car awaiting them was boxy, gray, and much larger than Audrey's. More like a bus.
On the inside, it featured a circle of badly worn seats facing inward toward holographic ads floating above vending machines selling snacks, medicines, liquor, and assorted recreational drugs. Audrey wondered why her brother Salvius bothered with dangerous illegal drugs when so many intoxicants and mood enhancers were readily available. She supposed addiction had its own logic.
“Nin, this is a public transport,” Audrey said.
“Yes, but I reserved the entire vehicle. So it's private for us.”
“Good move. Can't wait to hear Mom complain about the bill.” Audrey took one of the patched, scratched seats. Graffiti was carved into all the softer plastic surfaces inside the car. “Seriously, this is like heaven now. I might even eat one of those vending machine funnel cakes.”
As the car gained speed and flew up a steep ramp to join the highway traffic, Audrey felt her seat lurching with the rapid changes in velocity. Apparently the public transports had lower quality inertia dampeners, and her already-queasy guts were learning all about them.
“Hey, check that pharma-vend,” Audrey said. “See if it has something for headaches. And bad stomachs.”
“You bet I do!” A plastic head rose from the top of the medicine vending machine. Its design evoked some old-time doctor or pharmacist, with big glasses, a fringe of white hair, and a giant white mustache, now filthy with dust and public-car grime. “I recommend aspirin and caffeine for your head and bismuth formula for your stomach. All available for just seventeen credits—”
“Buy cocaine.” A portion of a plastic head with big red bug eyes had risen from the top of the machine beside it, just enough to peer out at her. “Good for all pain.”
“Do not buy cocaine!” the pharmacist character said. “Buy proper medicine from reputable manufacturers. Like HeadZap and BellyCalm.”
“Cocaine,” the peeking buggy robot insisted. “Like sweet rain in your brain.”
“It is not like that—” the pharma-bot snapped.
“Okay, shut up,” Audrey said. “I'll get the headache powder and stomach medicine from Dr. Mustache.”
“Good for you!” said the pharma-bot.
“Should have bought cocaine,” the bug-bot said, its partially raised head now sinking out of sight inside the drug-and-liquor vending machine.
Nin stepped over to the vending machine and purchased the medicine using Audrey's personal spending account. When the medicine packet and thimble-sized bottle tumbled out, Nin collected them, opened them, and handed them to Audrey.
Audrey drank the headache medicine down with a gulp from the tiny bottle of liquid pink BellyCalm. She handed the empty bottle back to Nin, who tossed it into the overflowing trash hole in the wall of the car.
It was only then that Audrey noticed the damage to Nin's hand. Smashing open the car's console and ripping out its guts had left Nin's fingers broken and twisted. It looked painful; good thing Nin couldn't really feel it.
“Nin! We have to get you repaired right away.”
“No, we have to get you repaired right away, Audrey.” Nin put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close, like when Audrey was a child. “You're the most important person in the world to me. You're special. There's nobody like you.”
“You don't have to talk to me like a little kid,” Audrey said, but she couldn't help smiling and feeling soothed. Someone had just tried to kill her, and she knew her family would be more concerned about the politics and media spin of it than her actual well-being. If the family looked bad on the gossip sites, Audrey's mother would be furious, her siblings would mock her, and her father... she supposed he would speak to her even less, if that was possible.
Nin, though, would always care about Audrey more than any of that. Nin was the only one Audrey could really trust with her thoughts and feelings.
“Perhaps we should contact the police,” Nin said. “Or report the terror attack to special services.”
“Report it to Ila.” That her father's personal-assistant android. “No one else. Let my family handle it. And tell them I'm unharmed.”
“But you have not been diagnosed. I detected you have no major broken bones, but you may have suffered other injuries ranging from concussion to internal bleeding—”
“Thanks, Mom, but tell them that anyway.”
“As long as—”
“Yes, I'll still swing by that clinic. That very private and discreet clinic, right?”
“They are now expecting you. Under your alias Veronica Exeter, who pays extra for discretion.”
They finally reached it, taking a series of branching off-ramps into the private indoor parking area in front of the clinic on level forty of a curvy, spiral-shaped black skyscraper. Solid black doors sealed behind them as they drove into the parking area, providing privacy as Audrey and Nin exited the public car.
Nurse Nancy androids, as gorgeous as supermodels, emerged from the black-tinted doors of the clinic with a luxuriously padded wheelchair and insisted Audrey sit down. The wheelchair adjusted to Audrey's body, providing maximum comfort and support to her neck, back, and really every part of her.
The nurses fussed over her, oozing with programmed compassion and sentiment. The chair tested Audrey's pulse, temperature, weight, and blood pressure while it drove her past the marble front desk where no one stood, through a pair of gilded mahogany doors, and ultimately to an exam room that looked like a luxurious spa, including soft music and a gurgling bathing pool with heaps of towels and colorful glass bottles.
Audrey sank into a pristine white chair, which reclined and extended into a soft, gently inclined exam table, heated and padded. She wasn't sure whether to expect a medical exam or a deep-tissue massage. One of the nurses took a blood sample, while the other repeatedly told Audrey how great she looked. Then the nurses left.
