Miles rolled over, massaging his cheek where it had face-planted the floor. “Yeah. Guess I slipped.”
Lenore looked down at Miles, her hands bound in front of her. Miles could swear he spotted the hint of a smirk beneath her resigned expression. “Watch yourself.”
The robots tugged on their loops, jerking Lenore forward. She turned her back and shuffled out of the room.
CHAPTER
16
GENERAL BRECKENRIDGE HAD TRIED EVERY battlefield weapon known to man—and some that were still top secret—to test the cape’s limits.
Machine guns. Flamethrowers. Grenade launchers. He’d stacked a pyramid of mines and detonated them while he was crouched behind a wall of sandbags. The blast had rattled the fillings in his molars.
So much firepower . . . with no effect. Not a mark or tear.
The cape was indestructible.
The General stood in his bunker, a vast concrete room far below Dobbins Air Reserve Base. Accessible only by elevator, it was in this same bunker that the General had tested the first generation of his mechanized infantry, gone back to the design board, and tested them again. He’d had the bunker built specifically for that purpose, so no outsiders would know he was crafting the army of the future. Now the bunker was hiding something far more powerful—the secret of Gilded himself.
The bunker was empty, save for the General. The golden cape was fastened by clamps to the chipped, cracked concrete wall. He couldn’t explain what it was manufactured from or how it was able to give off a golden glow, despite the lack of any detectable power source. Part of the problem was that there wasn’t a way to sample the darn thing. All attempts to remove even a single thread had resulted in broken tools. He’d considered consulting Dr. Petri, but he preferred that she continue her laboratory tests on Subject Two and his runt friend (he barely qualified for being called Subject Three—more like Subject Two-and-a-Half). Besides, the General wasn’t sure how much he could trust her with something so invaluable.
The General stepped closer to the cape, his combat boots sending used bullet casings clattering across the floor. He’d spent the past half hour firing at it with a chain gun at a rate of five hundred rounds per minute. Each time a bullet bounced off the fabric, it was like witnessing another tiny miracle.
He removed the cape from the clamps. It’s flawless fabric slid silkily through his hands, a soft hum warming his fingertips. It was as thin and as light as a pillowcase, making its unearthly resilience even more fascinating. If only the cape’s inner workings weren’t shrouded in so much mystery.
The General’s best guess was that using the cape required connecting its rudimentary clasp mechanism. He’d decided not to test the theory until the cape had been studied further. What if, once it was worn, it emitted lethal radiation? What if it caused an explosion? The dangers could be significant.
On the other hand . . .
The General was in a fortified concrete bunker designed to withstand detonations. Any danger the cape might pose could certainly be contained within.
The cape glowed. It hummed. It was calling to him. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He turned to a Humvee, appraising his reflection in the window. He was aged and hardened, nearing the end of his life’s journey.
No. The real journey was about to begin.
The General draped the cape over his shoulders. He took a long, lingering gaze at his reflection.
He was magnificent.
He wasn’t a child playing dress up. He was a serious commander intent on serious business.
The first time he’d seen the cape up close was the day the aliens attacked. What had the boy called them? The Unnd. They’d torn through the General’s troops with hardly any effort at all. Then Gilded had arrived, and the tide of the battle turned. Afterward, it was as though the General had never even been there, had never found the city in a desperate moment and thrown himself in harm’s way. Everyone waved at Gilded, exclaiming he was their hero.
A child. It was laughable.
Now it was the General’s turn. When citizens jubilantly looked skyward, it would be him they saw. When they put their heads on their pillows, it would be thoughts of him that would grant them peaceful dreams. With the cape, he would be the champion of every desperate moment that arose. He vowed it.
The clasp halves moved in his fingers.
Just the smallest twitch, but it was there—the halves were pulling themselves together. Surely they sensed the General was worthy. The man the cape had been waiting for. The man the cape deserved. The General would do his duty, protecting America against all enemies terrestrial and alien.
The clasp halves jumped from his hands and clicked together.
Lock and load.
The General staggered. The sensations of strength and vigor evaporated as quickly as they’d overcome him. He was woozy, his head reeling like the blood had been let out of it.
“No!” he bellowed. Acrid smoke from the tires of the burning Humvee seared his lungs. He stumbled to the wall, leaning on it for support.
He didn’t understand. Why had the cape been operational for only a few moments—a few glorious, exhilarating moments? He’d witnessed the cape work for far longer spans of time. His surveillance teams had recorded hours of footage proving it.
The General saw the clasp halves dangling lifelessly over his shoulders. Of course. How simple. The mechanism had accidentally come undone when the General—Gilded—had hurled the Humvee. No cause for alarm. Just put the clasp halves back together—
They fell apart again.
And again.
And again and again and again.
The clasp wouldn’t stay joined. The General noticed the cape was no longer glowing. No soft hum. Something was wrong, and he knew not what.
But the boy would know. He’d spent a year with the cape. As much as General Breckenridge despised admitting it, a mere child understood this immaculate golden instrument of warfare better than he did.
The General pressed an intercom on the wall. “Corporal!” he shouted.
“Yes, sir, General, sir!” the speaker squelched in reply.
“There’s been an incident with one of the Humvees. Have the air in the bunker vented. Then have Subject Two sedated and brought to me.”
CHAPTER
17
IT WAS LUNCHTIME IN THE cafeteria again.
Miles had eaten as much of his French onion soup as he could stomach, which was pretty much limited to the baked cheese at the top of the bowl and the soggy lump of bread floating just beneath it. For reasons that made no sense to Miles, Lenore preferred to get tangled in her chains during her meals—bringing the food to her mouth slowly, chewing painstakingly—rather than let anyone help her eat. He couldn’t fathom what could cause a kid to become so closed off.
They all sat in silence. Miles pushed away his tray and glanced at the robots guarding the door. They looked idle. He leaned closer to Henry, turning his head so as not to knock him out with onion breath. “Any ideas yet on how to break out of here?” he whispered.
A few minutes earlier, Henry had started watching the wall clock intently. Miles had noticed that he’d been doing that more lately, keeping one eye on the time while they moved from their cells to the cafeteria or the showers and back again. He was starting to worry his best friend was losing his grip.
“Henry?”
“I’m working on it,” Henry answered without taking his eyes off the clock. “Just keep talking with Lenore.”
“I can’t think of anything else to ask her,” Miles pressed. “Let me help.”
Henry darted his eyes at Miles. “Talking to Lenore is helping. It’ll keep the attention off me.”
“Got it.” Miles turned to Lenore. “So, Lenore,” he said loudly. “What’s it like living in Vidalia?”
Lenore rolled her eyes. “Is that a serious question? Are we pretending we aren’t locked up now?”
Miles shrugged. “We’re here. We have to talk about somethin
g.”
Miles couldn’t help being curious. Maybe it was because everything about Lenore was shrouded in mystery. Maybe it just helped him keep his mind off the fact that he might never see daylight again. Either way, she was something to dwell on.
“No, we don’t.”
“Come on,” Miles prodded. “What’s the big secret? You go first. Then I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me.”
Lenore tossed her spork onto the table, her chains clink-clinking. “Okay, fine. What’s life like in Vidalia? I don’t have any parents, that’s what life is like. They gave me up for adoption when I was one. I’ve been in and out of a million foster homes my whole life. The nice ones don’t want me around longer than I have to be. The bad ones I run away from. I split from the last one about a month before the General found me. That’s why I was hiding on the abandoned farm. Happy now?” Lenore recited it all matter-of-factly, like she was running down a book report.
“Oh God,” Miles said. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“See, that’s why I don’t like to talk about it. As soon as people hear, they treat me different. Apologize and act like I’m some stray dog. Maybe I like being on my own. You ever think about that? No one pretending they want to take care of me so they can cash a check from the government. No so-called friends making fun of me behind my back.”
“Do you . . . ? I mean, did anyone ever . . . ?”
“Tell me why my parents gave me up?” Lenore raised her wrists, showing Miles the manacles clamped over them. “It’s obvious, doorknob. They gave me up because there’s something wrong with me.”
If he thought she’d let him, Miles would’ve hugged her. He knew the feeling of being kicked to the curb by the people who were supposed to love you most. “My mom . . . she left, too. Went to Florida with some guy named Jack.”
Lenore scoffed. “That supposed to make us the same? Well, we’re not. You’ve got a home and a dad who’s worried about you. In the past year, the only place I’ve slept more than a month straight is this prison. You don’t know the first thing about what it’s like to be me.”
She was right. Miles couldn’t relate, and he was lucky because of it. He missed his dad even more. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Next time I say I don’t want to talk about something, take the hint.”
Miles looked to Henry for a bailout, but he was still focused on the clock.
The time was 12:59. The second hand spun toward the vertical position.
“Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight,” Henry mumbled. “One o’clock.” He whipped his head around to watch the cafeteria door.
At that moment, the door opened. Jerry entered, and the two robots on guard duty whirred to life.
“Thirteen hundred hours!” Jerry announced. “Midday meal has ended.”
“Routine,” Henry said.
Miles and Henry stood, and Lenore’s pair of dedicated robot wardens rolled forward to unchain her from the table. She started to get up, but the shackle around her right ankle caught on the leg of the table, and she teetered over. Wrists and ankles bound, she couldn’t do anything to break her fall. Her head was on a collision course with the cold, hard floor.
Everything happened too fast for Miles to see. Henry rushed forward to help, and then there was a dull, heavy BOING!, like the sound of a water balloon rebounding off a trampoline. Henry sailed backward, crashing into Miles and knocking them both to the ground. Henry’s glasses skittered across the tile.
Miles shook off the impact and staggered to his feet. “What’d you do that for?” he yelled angrily at the robots. “Henry was just trying to keep her from falling!”
The robots flashed their eye beams across Miles’s face. They’d already dropped their loops over Lenore to immobilize her. Her focus was on Henry, though. She looked at him guiltily.
Jerry stepped between Miles and the robots. “Don’t confront the mechanized infantry,” he warned. “You’ll get hurt.”
“You don’t care about us!” Miles snapped. “You just follow the General’s orders! You’re no better than these stupid machines!”
Jerry’s cheeks flushed red as though Miles had smacked him. “That wasn’t very nice,” he grumbled.
“I’m fine, Miles.” Henry was on his feet and sliding his glasses back onto his face. “Don’t make things worse for us.”
“How could things get any worse? We’re hostages!” Miles was drained. If he didn’t pull himself together, he might cry.
“Miles,” Henry stated, glancing surreptitiously at Lenore. “It’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not,” Miles croaked.
Henry’s hand shot up to grab Miles’s upper arm, squeezing it like a vise. He looked dead straight into Miles’s eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” he repeated.
Miles’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay, Henry. Okay. Let’s just go back to our cells.”
Jerry raised a hand, holding Miles back. “Not you. The General wants to see you in the lab.”
Miles’s hair stood on end. He took a step back. “No. I’m going back to my cell.”
“Orders are orders,” Jerry said sternly. He reached for Miles again.
Miles smacked Jerry’s hand away. “I don’t care about your stupid orders!” he shouted.
Jerry massaged his hand and turned to one of the robots. “Escort Subject Two to the lab.”
The robot shuffled through its attachments and produced something that looked like a Taser. The end crackled with electricity. “Escorting Subject Two.”
Miles’s heart quickened. “Don’t come near me!”
“What’s this about?” Henry protested. “Where are you taking him?”
The robot brought the Taser closer. Miles knew he should obey, but he couldn’t gather the guts to put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t want to see the General. He didn’t want to go to the lab.
zzzt
A jolt ripped through Miles’s body. There was a sick, metallic taste in his mouth. Over his buzzing ears, he heard Henry screaming.
“Leave him alone!”
A clamp gripped Miles’s neck, the pain cutting through the daze. Another robot closed in on Henry. Miles’s mistakes had gotten Henry into enough trouble. He wasn’t going to let him get hurt, too.
“Stop!” Miles shouted.
The robot paused.
“Just don’t hurt them.” Miles’s tongue was heavy. “I won’t fight. Take me away.”
The pinch of a needle plunged into Miles’s neck.
He was unconscious before he hit the floor.
CHAPTER
18
MILES’S HEAD FELT LIKE IT was packed with blow-dried cotton balls—fluffy and airy and tangled all at the same time. He started to come around, his vision slowly clearing as the fog lifted from his brain. He squinted against the harsh light reflecting off white walls, and terror racked him.
He was in a lab.
His adrenaline spiked, flushing what was left of the knockout drug from his brain. He bolted upright on the steel table.
There was the soft whishing sound of a door sliding open, and frigid air blasted into the room. The General appeared beside him. “Welcome, Subject Two,” he said genially. “I apologize for not seeing you the past few days. I’ve been focusing on other matters. However, it’s time we had a serious talk.”
The General seemed different from last time. More polite. Nice even.
“First tell me why you keep drugging me.” Miles tried to sound confident, but he knew his voice was shaky. “Then we can talk.”
“I apologize. My mechanized infantry can sometimes be overzealous in the execution of my orders. As for my own behavior”—the General clasped his hands behind his back—“I worry that it caused us to start off poorly. I blame the rigors of my job. It can sometimes put me in a sour mood.”
Miles wasn’t sure how to respond. In a weird way, the General’s politeness was scarier than his anger. “Apology accepted?”
&nb
sp; “Splendid!” The General clapped his hands together and stepped toward Miles excitedly. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said to me the first time we spoke. Perhaps we do have a similar goal—we both want what’s best for this nation. You do want that, don’t you, Miles? Do you mind if I call you Miles?”
“No. I mean, yes,” Miles stammered. “I mean, no, I don’t mind if you call me ‘Miles.’ Yes, I do want what’s best.”
“A man of sincerity. How admirable. Since we both want what’s best, Miles . . . tell me how to use the cape.”
Miles leaned away, a mental alarm sounding in his head. “I’ve got a better idea. Since we both want the same thing, why don’t you give me back the cape and we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”
The General shook his head. “You don’t honestly believe yourself qualified to be Gilded, do you? You’ve made a decent show of it, true, but you’re only a child. A decent show isn’t good enough. Not with the future of the United States at stake. The person who wears the cape should have discipline. Training. A command of the arts of national defense and warfare. Do you have any of those things?”
Miles understood where the conversation was headed, and he didn’t like it one bit. Maybe there was truth to what the General said. Maybe Miles wasn’t good enough to wear the cape anymore. Maybe he never had been. But he knew for sure that the General wasn’t good enough, either. “Sure don’t. But I know how the cape works, which is more than I can say for you.”
The corner of the General’s mustache twitched. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so.” Miles crossed his arms. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”
The General’s demeanor changed instantly. “Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “you will. Mechanized infantry, restrain Subject Two.”
A pair of battle robots rolled into the room. “Restraining, General Breckenridge.”
Before Miles could try to get away, the robots gripped him in their clamps. They pressed him down so forcefully, he thought the table might break beneath him. “Let me go!” he yelled.
Rise of the Robot Army Page 12
