Rise of the Robot Army

by Robert Venditti

  “No, I don’t think I will.” The General reached into his pocket and took out a syringe filled with a sickly yellow liquid. “But I’ll help you get more comfortable.”

  The syringe plunged into Miles’s arm, entering through a port sewn into his jumpsuit. A sharp pain shot up to his shoulder. The General jerked the syringe back out, the last drops of liquid spurting from the needle.

  Miles flopped and squirmed, trying to break free. “What was that? Tell me what you stuck me with!”

  “A little something to make you more compliant.” The General smiled as though he’d just done Miles a favor. He hadn’t. “I have a few questions, and it’s imperative that you’re truthful.”

  Miles felt euphoric, like floating on a lazy river in the summer sun. His mind was split in two. One side knew there was a mystery concoction spreading throughout his bloodstream. The other side didn’t care. “. . . I can be truthful. . . . I don’t like you, General. . . .”

  “Good,” the General cooed. “That’s very good. Now let’s talk about the golden cape. Let’s talk about Gilded.”

  The mention of the cape made Miles feel warm, like a pleasant memory was coming back to him. “I like the cape. . . .”

  “I do as well, Miles. It’s very nice. Tell me how it works. How does it make you Gilded?”

  “. . . Good . . . good . . .”

  The General’s face tightened. “Yes!” he snapped. “The cape is good! Now tell me!”

  Miles tried to focus, to assert his will over the part of him that wouldn’t shut up. He couldn’t. Whatever was in that syringe, it made it impossible for him to not speak the truth. “I was bad. . . . I used to be good. . . . You’re bad . . .”

  “Enough!” The General slammed his fist on the table. He reached into his pocket and took out a second syringe. He bit the cap off and spat it away, clutching the syringe in his fist like a combat knife, ready to drive it into Miles.

  There was a whishing sound a thousand miles away. Cool air tickled Miles’s face like butterflies.

  “What’s going on here?” a voice demanded.

  Miles craned his neck to see a woman in a white lab coat standing behind him. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing sharp, intelligent eyes.

  “I’m conducting an interrogation, Dr. Petri,” the General said gruffly. “Your services are not required.”

  “An interrogation?” The doctor raced to Miles’s side, shining a pen flashlight into his pupil.

  “Bright . . .”

  The doctor was furious. “What did you give him?” She opened the drawer beneath the table. “This wasn’t our agreement, General. I’m responsible for the health and safety of these children.”

  “And I am responsible for the safety of the nation! Subject Two is hiding information of vital national interest!”

  Dr. Petri scowled. “You’ll have to find another way of getting it out of him.” She placed a gentle hand on Miles’s shoulder. “This is going to pinch.”

  “. . . I don’t like shots. . . .”

  Another syringe stabbed Miles’s arm. The euphoric feeling receded, the two separate parts of him merging into a single person again.

  The General snatched the doctor’s wrist and spun her around. “This is insubordination!” He shoved her away, raising his syringe over Miles.

  “I wouldn’t do that, General.” The doctor massaged her wrist, grimacing. “A second dose could kill him. If he’s as important as you say, I’m betting you don’t want to risk that.”

  “Gah!” The General threw the syringe against the wall, shattering it. “For how long?”

  “Twenty-four hours. Forty-eight to be safe.” She pushed past the General and leaned over Miles again. “I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened,” she said quietly.

  Miles was about to thank her. But with the General’s truth mix counteracted, he was able to focus. He’d heard her voice before, and the memory of it filled him with terror. “You were there that first day! In the balloon suit! Get away from me!”

  The doctor pulled back. “It’s not what you think—”

  Miles couldn’t help it. He started to cry. All the fear and guilt and failure flooded out of him. He couldn’t hold it in a single second longer. “I want to go home!”

  The General stomped forward. “Home? You are never going home. This is only the beginning. I’m going to learn everything about the cape, and you will teach me.”

  If Miles could go back in time, he’d do everything differently. He’d listen to Henry and his dad. He’d notice the warning signs when he started to go astray. He wouldn’t help people because he wanted to be Gilded; he’d be Gilded because he wanted to help people.

  Henry was right. Miles had started thinking of people’s tragedies and miseries as an excuse to feel better about himself. What did that say about him? Who had he become? He hadn’t become a superhero, that was certain. He’d become a selfish, self-involved jerk. He wasn’t any different from the General. He might not have kidnapped or interrogated anyone, but what he’d done was just as wrong. And now there was no fixing it.

  “Please,” Miles sobbed. “No more.”

  The General seethed. “Oh, there’ll be more. There’ll be plenty more. And if you won’t talk, then I’ll persuade your runt friend. Or your father, or anyone else you care about.”

  “General!” Dr. Petri shouted. “That’s enough! If you don’t leave the lab this instant, I’m going to report your actions to your superiors. You may be a general, but you aren’t God.”

  The General stiffened. “No, doctor. It’s you who’s leaving. Your security clearance is revoked. You have twenty-four hours to clean out your office and vacate the premises. And I’ll remind you, if you ever speak a word about any of what you’ve seen at this facility, you’ll be found guilty of treason. Punishable by death.”

  “Mechanized infantry!” the General commanded. “Remove the doctor from the floor. And return Subject Two to his cell.”

  “Removing,” the robots confirmed. “Returning.”

  A robot hoisted Miles from the table.

  The General leveled a deadly stare at him. “You have twenty-four hours, boy. Tell me everything about being Gilded, or pay the price. Dismissed.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  MILES BARELY REMEMBERED THE TRIP back to his cell. Between the knockout drug, the truth concoction, and whatever the doctor had given him to counteract it, his brain was mush. He flopped onto his cot and curled into a ball. He must’ve been unconscious much longer than he thought, because when he came to, the lights were dimmed for bedtime.

  “Miles?” Henry whispered in the dark.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Are you okay? Where did they take you?”

  The cell was spinning. “I’m serious. I don’t feel like talking.”

  Maybe Henry just wanted more details to add to his mental database of the prison, but none of that mattered anymore. If Miles didn’t come up with a way out by tomorrow, the General was going to follow through on his threats.

  Miles looked around his cell. Nothing but the cot and the chair. Was that all his life was going to be from now on? Sitting up or lying down, spending every waking moment thinking about how his failures had hurt his friends and family?

  Miles stood, and the cell spun worse. He reached out to steady himself and flopped onto the chair. Luckily it was sturdy and metal.

  Sturdy. Metal. His first day in the cell, Miles had swung this same chair at the glass wall as hard as he could. The glass door hadn’t been damaged in the least.

  And neither had the chair.

  A plan started to form. Not really a plan, so much as an idea. A kernel of an idea. At best.

  It was risky. It was crazy. But it just might work.

  One way or another, this was Miles’s last day as a prisoner. Either they were going to escape, or he’d die in the attempt. There was no other option.

  • • •

  Oh-seven-hundr
ed loomed like high noon in one of those Western movies Mr. Taylor liked to watch: ominous, dangerous, and final.

  Miles had barely slept, so flip-jittery were his nerves. He’d have to be quick. He’d have to be strong. He’d have to be heroic.

  What he was, was scared.

  Quick. Strong. Heroic. All qualities Miles possessed when he wore the cape. But he’d botched that. The General had the cape hidden somewhere in the base, and for all Miles knew, Breckenridge was hell-bent on unraveling it one thread at a time until he could make it do what he desired. Miles’s encounter with the General the day before had only affirmed what he already feared was true but had been unwilling to admit—his time as Gilded was over.

  He’d never forgive himself for ruining the best thing that had ever happened to him. Maybe Henry wouldn’t either. But he needed to push that out of his mind now. It was time for him to salvage the only thing he could: their freedom.

  Oh-seven-hundred finally arrived, and the day’s routine began. Corporal Jerry escorted Miles and Henry to breakfast. A pair of battle robots brought Lenore soon after.

  Miles couldn’t touch his food, and not because it was onions. He was nervous, tension stretching his insides like a drum.

  “Miles?” Henry was studying him with concern. “I know you don’t want to talk about what they did in the lab, but it’s important.” Henry’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s a weak spot in their routine. I know there is. And I’m going to find it.”

  Miles shot a glance at Lenore. The mention of the lab seemed to make her lose her appetite, too. “I can’t explain why, Henry, but we need to get out of here. Today.”

  Henry’s voice was filled with concern. “That isn’t a good idea. We need a plan first. We need to be patient.”

  “I already have a plan,” Miles whispered. “When Jerry takes us back to our cells, get his attention. Scream your head off. Throw a fit. I don’t care what. Just do it.”

  “Whoa. Let’s talk this through. What’re you—”

  “You have to trust me,” Miles said. He glanced at the robots guarding the door. “Please. It has to be today. Just nod if you’re with me.”

  Lenore nodded. Henry did, too, but Miles could tell he didn’t like being in the dark.

  • • •

  After breakfast and cleanup time, Jerry escorted Miles and Henry back to the their cells. Lenore gave Miles a nervous glance as he walked by.

  Miles steeled himself. He had a tiny window of opportunity. But it was the only window he had.

  Jerry scanned his keycard past the lock on Miles’s cell, and the glass wall whisked upward. Miles backed over the threshold, exchanging a glance with Henry. Miles could tell Henry understood.

  Go time.

  Jerry reached out to wave his keycard in front of the lock and seal Miles inside.

  “Jerry . . . ?” Henry said weakly.

  Jerry’s hand stopped, and he looked back over his shoulder at Henry. “What is it?”

  “I—I don’t feel so . . . so . . . AUGH!” Henry dropped to the floor, hands grabbing his stomach like he’d swallowed broken glass. He was threatening the one thing that is 100 percent guaranteed to freak out every adult in the room: kid puke.

  It was genius.

  “Whoa!” Jerry blurted. “Don’t throw up, kid!”

  Miles crept toward his cell’s steel chair. He was a powder keg of adrenaline ready to explode, but he had to keep his cool. If he made the slightest sound, they were sunk.

  Henry writhed, moaning louder. “AAAUUUGLL!”

  “It’s the onions!” Jerry blurted. “I warned the General to lay off, but he gets them free from the farm down South. He never listens to me!” Jerry scooped up Henry by one arm, trying to get him to stand.

  Miles hoisted the chair by two legs like a war club.

  Henry went limp like his bones were noodles, pulling Jerry down with him. “It’s coming up!”

  “Not yet! Not yet!” Jerry urged. “Get to the toilet!”

  Miles crept forward. He held the chair high, taking aim at the back of Jerry’s head. He was going to get only one shot at this. It had to count.

  Just as he was about to swing, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass wall of Henry’s cell. And there, right beside it, Miles saw Jerry’s narrow eyes glaring back at him.

  Uh-oh.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Jerry wailed.

  Jerry fumbled for his gun. Miles mustered all his strength and swung for a knockout blow.

  Jerry yelped and dodged. He wasn’t fast, but he was fast enough. The chair missed him by an inch, sailing from Miles’s hands and clattering to the ground.

  Miles and Jerry stood and stared at each other, as if neither knew what to do next. Then Jerry broke the silence. “You’ll have to do better than that to escape from me,” he gloated.

  “CHARGE!” Henry leaped onto Jerry’s back. He smacked his hands over Jerry’s eyes, blinding him.

  Jerry bucked and spun. “This is insubordination!”

  Henry hung on like a rodeo man riding a bucking bull. “Help!” he hollered.

  “How?” Miles hollered back.

  “I don’t know!”

  Miles went with his gut. He rushed Jerry from behind, planting his shoulder into the small of his back and shoving as hard as he could. Jerry stumbled forward, pumping his legs to keep his feet under him.

  Henry sprang clear. Jerry had just enough time to glimpse the glass wall of an empty cell before pasting his face against it like a plump dove colliding with a window.

  THUNNNG!

  Miles stepped back and caught his breath, steeling himself for Jerry’s counterattack. Henry stood in a karate pose, even though—as far as Miles knew—he didn’t know a lick of martial arts.

  Jerry teetered for a moment, then slid down the glass wall, his lips leaving behind a trail of slobber.

  He’d knocked himself out cold.

  “This was your plan?” Henry said, exasperated.

  “Later!” Miles said urgently. “Get the keycard!”

  “Right!”

  They rolled Jerry onto his back, and Miles slipped the lanyard off his neck. He swiped the keycard past the lock outside Lenore’s cell. “You were supposed to help with the distracting!”

  Lenore stepped out. “I didn’t want to steal Henry’s thunder. That was really . . . something.” She looked down at her feet planted on the concrete outside her cell. Then she grinned. “No restraints.”

  “Don’t celebrate yet. We still have to find a way out of this place.”

  Then an alarm blared, and the chase was on.

  CHAPTER

  20

  BACKING UP THE ALARM WAS a repeated message in an automated voice. “Containment breach. Mechanized infantry to the cells . . . Containment breach. Mechanized infantry to the cells . . .”

  Miles swiped the keycard to unlock the vault door that opened to the hallway. “Run!”

  “Where are we going?” Henry panted.

  “The General said this was the prison level. That means there has to be other levels.” Miles was terrified. They’d been free for less than thirty seconds, and he was already doubting himself. “There’s got to be stairs somewhere.”

  “I know the way!” Lenore cut in. “The robots have led me past a stairwell a few times. Follow me!”

  They turned right, and Lenore stopped short. Miles and Henry had to skid to keep from plowing into her.

  Farther down the hall a trio of battle robots waited. They each cycled through their tool assortment and produced a restraint loop like the one Miles had seen them use on Lenore.

  “Halt,” the robots droned.

  Lenore turned to Miles and Henry. She was deadly serious. “Do you trust me?”

  Jerry turned the corner in the direction they’d run from. Miles had been in such a rush, he’d neglected to close the vault door and seal Jerry inside. Now they were trapped, enemies in front and behind them.

  “STOFF THEM!” Jerry shouted,
his hands cradling his smashed nose.

  “Do you trust me?” Lenore repeated.

  “Is there a choice?” Miles answered.

  “Then get behind me and stay there!”

  Lenore bolted, and Miles and Henry followed. Miles noticed she had an odd, loping gate, as if she were trying to touch as little of the ground as possible. Whatever the reason, she was fast.

  “Incoming attack detected,” the robots stated. “Advancing.” The robots lurched forward.

  “Don’t charge!” Jerry screamed. “Stand your ground!”

  The robots ignored him and continued forward.

  Twenty feet.

  Ten.

  Escape or die trying. That was the promise Miles made himself. He hunched his head down into his shoulders and waited for the crunch of metal against his skull.

  BOING!

  Last time Miles had heard that sound, Henry had ended up sprawled on the cafeteria floor. Now, it was the robots’ turn. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the robots were already behind them, flailing on the ground like turned-over turtles. Miles didn’t understand how someone of Lenore’s size was able to bowl over three thousand pounds of death metal, but if Coach Lineman had seen it, the Jammer might’ve found himself playing backup to the only girl linebacker in Georgia.

  Henry blinked at Lenore. “You . . . ? How . . . ?”

  “Security! Security!” Jerry shouted shrilly to no one in particular. “They’re getting away!”

  They ran. Down hallways and around corners, they ran. Each time they encountered another squad of robots, they ducked into another hallway. Miles felt like a mouse who’d escaped his cage only to find himself lost in a maze. But Lenore never slowed her pace. She’d been a prisoner so long, she seemed to have the whole place memorized. Miles felt bad for her and was thankful for her at the same time.

  Finally, they came to a stairwell. Miles swiped the keycard, and they fell through the door just as a pair of robots turned the corner behind them.

  Miles checked the stairwell. In both directions, concrete steps disappeared into shadow. “Which way?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lenore said. “They never took me off the prison level.”