Rise of the Robot Army

by Robert Venditti

  Most worrisome, Miles didn’t know anything about what had happened between the arrival of the helicopter in the rainstorm and now. Hazy memories poked at the corners of his mind—the white room, the looming figures, the syringe. But if he tried to grasp the memories, they slipped away like water through his fingers.

  Miles did know two things. He knew the cape was missing. And he knew that was bad.

  Miles pulled his knees up to his chest, holding himself tight. The cape was gone. The only thing in existence that could protect the world and he’d lost it—probably to the sort of bad guys who the world most needed protecting from. How many people were in trouble right now, looking to the sky for a glint of gold that wasn’t going to come? If a disaster occurred while he was away . . . if one single person got hurt because Gilded wasn’t there to help them . . .

  A lump gathered in his throat, a dense tangle of emotion that, if he let it out, might never stop flowing.

  His dad must be worried sick. Miles had just come back from a jaunt around the country and now he’d flown out into a thunderstorm and vanished. And Henry—

  Oh my God. Henry.

  He’d been with Miles when he was captured. If something had happened to Henry because of Miles, he’d never be able to live with the guilt.

  Miles sat up on his cot. It took all his strength to speak the words, as though a dump truck were parked on his chest. “Henry? Are you here?”

  There was a stretch of silence that seemed to last a year. Then a voice answered back, “Keep your voice down.”

  Miles scrambled to the front of the cell. He pressed his palms and cheek against the glass wall. He saw a hallway about ten feet wide with a row of cells running down each side, all of them appearing empty. “Henry!” he yelled. “Is that you? I’m over here!”

  “I said, keep it down,” the voice answered sternly. Miles had heard that tone many times lately. Usually accompanied by data recited from an unholstered smartphone.

  Miles peered into the gloom of the cell across the corridor from his. Henry stepped out of the shadows. He, too, was clad in an orange jumpsuit. Rather than being snug, though, it hung a little loosely on his diminutive frame. Whoever had captured them, they apparently weren’t expecting a prisoner who was sized extra-extra-small.

  Henry gazed wide-eyed at Miles through the glass. He was scared. “They might be listening.”

  Miles was scared, too. “Any idea who . . . they are?”

  “Military,” Henry whispered cautiously, his eyes flitting about. “Army, I think. Judging by the stars on the leader’s uniform, I’d say he was a general.”

  “A general . . .” It all started coming back to Miles. “I knew I recognized him. He was there in the parking garage the day I got the cape from the old man. And he was there again when I fought Calamity and the Unnd horde downtown.” Miles looked around his cell. There was nothing except the cot and a metal chair. “Where are we?”

  “I can’t remember anything. They must’ve put us to sleep before they took us aboard the helicopter.”

  Miles’s fingers touched the back of his neck. The site of the pinprick was still tender. “Why? What’s the army got against us?”

  “I think a better question is, how’d they find us? They caught up to you so fast after you crashed, it’s like they were waiting for Gilded to show up. The only way that’s possible is if they knew where you lived. But how could they?”

  Miles hung his head. Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any lousier, he’d found a way. “I . . . you know . . . might’ve cut a few corners.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed.

  “I was going out on so many missions over the summer. I stopped switching up my travel routes to and from the apartment. For the past couple of months, I’ve been flying straight shots to emergencies and back.”

  Henry slid to the floor, his back slumped against the wall of his cell with his head hanging between his knees. “They cataloged your travel patterns and plotted them back to the part of the city they originated from. Like I warned you they would. Then all they had to do was stake out your area and wait for Gilded to show himself. Textbook operation.” Henry lifted his head. “Why couldn’t you just listen to me?”

  Miles had no answer.

  “Can you bust us out of here?” a hushed voice asked.

  If Miles’s jumpsuit hadn’t been snug, the sudden sound of an unknown, third voice would’ve made him leap right out of it.

  Henry froze, feet planted and arms out, as if the floor had just shifted under his butt. “Who said that?”

  “Me.” It sounded like a girl’s voice.

  Henry scrambled to his feet. “Who’s ‘me’? Show yourself!”

  “I’m over here.”

  Miles drew a bead on the direction the voice was coming from. It was the cell next to his. He pressed his cheek against the glass and strained his eyes, but it was no use; he couldn’t get the angle. Whoever was there, they were completely blocked from his line of sight.

  Not so for Henry. He was on the other side of the row, which gave him a clear look at the owner of the voice. Whatever he saw, it changed his demeanor immediately. “Hello, ma’am,” he said genially, as if he were introducing himself to Mr. Harangue’s new secretary. You’d never guess there were two tons of concrete block and two panes of thick glass separating him from the person he was talking to. “I’m Henry Matte. Who might you be?”

  “Hurry. Bust us out.” The voice sounded firmer. “Before they come back.”

  “Henry, who’s over there?” Miles demanded.

  “It’s a girl.”

  “I can hear it’s a girl. What’s she look like?”

  Henry considered the question. “Not pleased.”

  “I mean, is she a grown-up?” A dilemma like Miles and Henry were in, they could use some adult guidance.

  “No,” Henry answered, shaking his head.

  “Then why’d you call her ‘ma’am’?”

  “She doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to be treated casually.”

  “You’ll understand why, if you don’t get us out of here. Please, kid,” the voice begged. “I know you’ve never met me, but you have to trust me.”

  “It’s Henry. My name is Henry. My associate’s name is—”

  “I heard you!” the voice snapped. “You’re Henry. He’s Miles. I’m Lenore. Okay? Is that a good enough introduction? This isn’t summer camp. We’ve got to go.”

  Miles moved to the front corner of his cell, where he could be closest to Lenore. “We want to get out of here, too. Believe me. Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “Some kind of soldier base, I think. I’m not even sure how long it’s been.”

  “Why you?” Miles pressed.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong, if that’s what you’re asking. What does it matter, anyway? Just my luck. A couple of other inmates arrive, but one’s the size of a roof rat and the other sounds about as sharp as a doorknob.”

  “Hey!” Henry protested.

  Miles was having the mother of all bad days. He didn’t appreciate the attitude. “Okay, Lenore. If you’re so smart, why don’t you get us out?”

  “Isn’t that your job?” Lenore sounded confused. “You know, I always imagined you’d be better at it.”

  “Better at what?” Miles huffed.

  Miles heard Lenore’s footsteps as she crept slowly to the front of her cell. If she was pressing herself into the corner like Miles was, only a few inches of concrete separated them. But it might as well have been the Great Wall of China.

  “Help me,” Lenore whispered. “If you’re worried, I swear not to tell anyone I met Gilded.”

  Warnings blared in Miles’s head. “Gilded?” he scoffed. “You think I’m Gilded? Like, the superhero Gilded? That’s the craziest—”

  “You and Henry were talking. I heard it. So stop pretending and get us out.”

  On the plus side, there was still only a handful out of the seven billion people in the worl
d who knew Miles was the secret identity behind Gilded. On the negative side, in the last few hours, that handful had grown to include military kidnappers and an imprisoned girl.

  Miles pointed at Henry accusingly. “You’re the one who said it first.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Henry answered. “You mentioned the old man and the cape.”

  “That could mean anything! You’re the one who started talking about Gilded’s home base!”

  “You mean the home base you led them right to?”

  “I said I was sorry about that!”

  “Are you two always this whiny?” Lenore cut in. “Gilded never seemed whiny all the times I saw him on the news.”

  Lenore had a point. Now wasn’t the time to be arguing with each other. And until Miles got the cape back, he didn’t need a secret identity anyway.

  “She’s right, Henry. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just figure a way out of this place.”

  Henry nodded. “Agreed.”

  “What’s to figure, Gilded? Punch a hole in the wall or something.”

  Hearing himself called by that name was like a rusty dagger being pushed into Miles’s gut. Was he even still Gilded? “That’s not how it works. It’s hard to explain, but Gilded can’t help us right now.”

  “Why are you acting like this?” Lenore said desperately. “Do you work for them? Did they put you in here to mess with my head?” Miles heard her slide down the glass wall of her cell. Her voice cracked. “Why can’t everyone leave me alone?”

  “Lenore?” Miles tried to sound comforting, despite not feeling very comforted himself. “My word hasn’t been much good lately, but there are two things I can promise you. First, Henry and I aren’t working for the people who brought us here. Second, we will get out.”

  Miles rapped his knuckles against the glass wall. It was solid all right. Still, it was only glass, maybe an inch thick at the most. It had to be breakable. He looked at Henry. “What do you think?”

  Henry shrugged. “It’s as good a place to start as any.”

  Miles grabbed the metal chair and dragged it over. Its legs scraped against the concrete floor like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  “That won’t work.” Lenore groaned.

  Miles imagined a big-league ballplayer at bat, winding back for a home run. He clenched his teeth and spun, swinging the chair at the glass with all the strength he could gather.

  WHUNNNG!

  The chair bounced off the glass, the impact sending shock waves like needles down Miles’s arms. He dropped the chair, and it clattered to the ground.

  “The glass is shatterproof.” Lenore sounded deflated. “No matter how hard or how much you hit it, nothing happens. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Miles looked across at Henry. “Please tell me you have an idea.”

  Henry’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

  Suddenly, there was a hiss of air, followed by the sound of a door opening. Not a regular door, but something heavy and metal, like the door to a bank vault or a nuclear missile silo. Or a prison.

  “They’re coming!” Lenore whispered urgently.

  Miles tried to look down the row of cells, as did Henry.

  The heavy, hollow thud of hard-heeled boots approached. Miles searched for something—anything—to fight with. He grabbed the chair again.

  “Who’s there?” Henry called out.

  The boot falls grew closer. What Miles wouldn’t give to have the cape over his shoulders right now.

  At last the threat revealed itself. If Miles hadn’t been kidnapped via military helicopter, drugged, and imprisoned who-knows-where, he might’ve chuckled. He’d expected a jackbooted giant with a buzz cut and muscles until Sunday—basically the Jammer, if he grew up and traded in his football jersey for camo. What he saw instead was a chubby, red-cheeked soldier who looked about as natural in his army fatigues as Miles would in a tutu.

  No wonder the footsteps had sounded heavy. The man was less than six feet tall, but he looked like he hadn’t been shy of two hundred fifty pounds since boot camp—and maybe not even then.

  “Please refrain from hitting the glass,” the soldier said. He was stern, like he’d caught Miles banging on the window of the gorilla exhibit at Zoo Atlanta. Miles recognized his voice as belonging to the pudgy man who’d found them in the rain. It was obvious the soldier’s intent was to appear authoritative, but narrowing his eyes and pressing his lips together only caused his already small features to nearly get swallowed up by his jowls completely.

  “Um . . . okay. Sorry about that,” Miles said, setting the chair down gently. Crazy as it sounded, Miles didn’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings.

  “Thanks for your prompt compliance,” the soldier said. “I can tell we’re going to get along just fine. My name is Corporal—”

  “Corporal!” a booming voice cut in over an intercom.

  The corporal snapped to attention. He saluted, but since there were no other military people present, he looked like he was saluting the air. “Sir!”

  “No fraternizing with the prisoners. Have Subject Two brought to me for interrogation at once.”

  “Yes sir, sir!”

  The corporal fumbled with a lanyard around his neck and produced a keycard from behind his fatigues. He swiped it through a scanner next to Miles’s cell, and the glass wall slid upward silently.

  “Step out and walk to the end of the hall,” the corporal commanded. “And no funny stuff.” The corporal punctuated that last bit by placing his hand on his holstered sidearm. He tried to look menacing, but all Miles could think was how bad he wanted to try some funny stuff—whatever that meant—just to see if the corporal’s fat index finger could fit through the gun’s trigger guard.

  But what then? Miles didn’t know where he was or what was waiting for him beyond the cells. Besides, Miles wasn’t going anywhere without the cape. He had no idea how, but he was going to get it back. Until then, escape was out of the question.

  Miles stepped out from the cell slowly, his arms in the air. The corporal seemed proud of that last bit, like he’d been searching his entire military career for someone to be intimidated by him and he’d finally found a thirteen-year-old who fit the bill.

  The corporal pointed to the end of the hall. “March.”

  Henry pounded the heels of his fists on the front of his cell. “Where are you taking him?” he demanded.

  The corporal was firm. “You’ll find out when it’s your turn, Subject Three.”

  Miles stole a glance into Lenore’s cell as he passed by. Her faced dropped when she saw him. She’d wanted a hero, and she’d gotten a kid. Miles was used to disappointing people, but usually it was people he already knew. Disappointing a total stranger who hadn’t even had a chance to expect anything from him yet was a new low.

  He wished he could help her. She looked so scared and vulnerable. She was—

  “Keep moving!” the corporal ordered, prodding Miles in the back.

  Miles headed down the row of cells, all of them empty except for Henry’s and Lenore’s. At the end waited an open vault door. At least he’d gotten that part right, though it did seem like an overabundance of security for a depowered superhero, a girl, and an undergrown gifted student.

  “Good luck,” Lenore called solemnly as Miles passed through the door. It was the last thing he heard before the corporal sealed the vault behind them.

  CHAPTER

  14

  THE CORPORAL LED MILES THROUGH a warren of drab, concrete corridors. They passed steel doors with keycard locks beside them, the only detail differentiating each of them being a room number etched into the front. No windows. Not a hint of sunlight or starry sky to indicate the time of day. With each echoing footstep, Miles’s heart sank deeper into despair. The prison was sprawling and impossible for him to make sense of.

  At last the corporal came to a door at the end of a hall. The number on the door read I-2. He swiped his keycard through the lock, and the doo
r slid back with a pneumatic hiss.

  The corporal pointed. “Inside.”

  Miles stepped into the room, and his blood turned to slushie.

  Robots. A pair of them standing shoulder to shoulder, like some mechanical science-fiction soldiers from the future. They stood about seven feet tall, with tripod legs and two arms. Scratch that. The arms weren’t exactly arms. Where their left forearms should be, there were wide barrels that looked like tank cannons stumped off and attached at the robots’ elbows. In place of their right forearms there were weird tangles of saw blades and blowtorches and things Miles didn’t even recognize. They reminded him of his dad’s pocketknife, if the pocketknife went on a weight-lifting bender and spent six months in the gym. He’d never seen such terrifying examples of death machinery. And he’d witnessed the Unnd invasion firsthand, so that was saying something.

  Miles flashed back to the night before. The smooth movement. The armored skin glinting in the rain. The viselike grip. These were the shadowy entities that had captured him.

  The room was about the size of a tennis court. The robots were in the middle, like they were waiting for a ball they could bat back and forth. Or a person who could serve the same function.

  The corporal prodded Miles forward until he was standing face to chest with the robots. Miles dared to gaze up at the cold, reflective visor that he assumed served as one of the robot’s eyes. The robots were silent, switched off like toys on the shelf at the store, waiting to be taken home and played with. Miles imagined some high-ranking military official getting one for a present, turning it on, and then having his house demolished around him. Happy birthday, courtesy of the robo-soldiers from hell.

  Miles swallowed hard on the lump forming in his throat as he pictured the long walk to get to this room and all the doors he passed along the way. If behind each of them waited machines like these . . . what chance did any kid have against that?

  Apartment 2H. Chapman Middle. Josie. His dad.