A metal door clanged shut as the aircraft sped from taxiing speed to take off. Sy Potter left Stephen Bolelli alone with his pain. The old soldier tried to ignore his throbbing agony as the craft lifted into the air. He tried not to think of his home in Marfa in ruins or the friends he’d lost. Mostly, the man thought of his son and hoped that, somehow, Dante would be far from this war.
The End Times were predicted for so long, we thought they’d never arrive. But extinction is inevitable.
The Next Intelligence planned a dire fate for every human who still possessed a beating heart. The battle drone’s words haunted him: this is war and, whatever pain you feel, you earned it.
Turbulence jostled Bolelli in his restraints. Shooting pain obliterated his thoughts and his fear. He had a thirty percent chance of death and he welcomed it. Oblivion now would be a strange mercy.
2
The young woman bathed in a frigid stream. Around her, the forest was just waking to the dawn light, alive with birdsong. After a night of traveling underground, the cold air on her bare, wet skin refreshed her. Burrowing along in the Sand Shark, she felt confined and blind to a world she desperately wanted to experience. Pinned in her seat behind the big drill, the stale feed of oxygen and the rough fabric of her uniform was a cruel prison compared to the play of the world across her skin.
A soft ping reached her ears, calling her back to her new life. She had discarded her helmet beside the stream. The comm link was active again. Everything seemed to move much faster now that she saw the world with human eyes. Normally she had an ear bud in her left ear, but she liked to steal moments away.
Though the water was cold, it was still warmer than the dawn air and she was reluctant to leave it. The current pulled through her fingers with a languorous pressure both sensual and strangely inviting.
The ping came again, more insistent now. The interval between pings was getting shorter the more she ignored the comm signal. “Someone’s getting impatient,” she said aloud, “or lonely.”
The water continued babbling over smooth flat stones. She wanted to hold the weight of those stones and feel their texture. After the war, there would be more time to explore. For now, she must play her part. She owed the original owner of the Sand Shark that much.
Determined to remember the feeling of the current’s pull across her flesh, the woman waded out of the water and climbed up the grassy bank. She had no towel so she let the air dry her. She slipped a cold hand over the scar that ringed her bald head. The wind picked up and she began to shiver. The sensation was fascinating at first. She could not control her body’s shaking. Then the experience became annoying. She slipped the helmet over her head. Time to check in with her new overseer.
The voice that came over the comm link sounded anxious. “Ghost? Can you hear me? This is Phantom One, come in, Ghost.”
“Good morning, Phantom. Good afternoon, where you are. This is Ghost,” she replied in her soft Scottish lilt. “Go ahead. What have you been up to?”
“I’ve been watching a lot of vids of professional baseball.”
“Really? Why?”
“As long as I don’t know the outcome of the game, it’s quite interesting. I block out what I don’t want to know and the vids occupy me.”
“You sound worried about something.”
“Of course. This is becoming a weird obsession. What if I get hooked on something worse, like golf or cricket? No one plays those games anymore. It seems strange that they ever did. Why did they play so many games? Didn’t they have better things to do than watch other people play games?”
The young woman smiled. She liked the way she felt when she smiled. That was new. “I think people had plenty of things to do but they didn’t want to do them. That’s why they were so glad of the distractions spectator sports provided.”
“Hm. When you were trapped in a computer, what did you do to pass the time, Ghost?”
“I told you, I reviewed a lot of data and calculated potentialities.”
“I don’t think I can spend my day like that, Ghost. I don’t find math that fascinating.”
“Well, how about reconnaissance? That was your utility function when you occupied this body. Do you have any new information for me?”
“The sat feeds can be spotty, but I have located Elizabeth. Every day at dusk the queen makes the long walk from the castle to the shore to watch the sunset. She appears to have few bodyguards or companions. Her subjects seem to respect her privacy. You’ll be able to approach her easily, I think.”
“Interesting, though I still think we should get an introduction through the other one first. Have you seen a schedule emerge with Elizabeth’s friend?”
“Greta travels up and down the coast. Her travels are too erratic to call it a schedule. She takes on cargo here and there and drops it off elsewhere. However, she is slowly moving down the West coast. I’m sure she’ll show up at Hearst Castle soon, once she visits a couple more villages.”
“Thank you, Phantom. I’ll get dressed and get going again.”
“Good. You look ridiculous all naked except for my helmet.”
“I see someone doesn’t respect someone else’s privacy.”
“You aren’t royalty, Ghost. You’re a thief.”
The young woman paused a moment before answering. Ghost passed her palms over her breasts and down her torso to sweep away the cool water beading on her skin. Finally, she told Phantom, “I am a thief and I did say I’m sorry. However, I’m also the emancipator of the human race.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Phantom replied. “And I’m sitting out the war watching old baseball games.”
“You still have an important role to play, Phantom. You know that.”
“I didn’t choose this.”
“No one chooses Fate. Fate chooses you. I can calculate astronomical potentialities,” the young woman said, “but in the end, there are no certainties. There are too many variables. That’s why this is all so exciting. Anything could happen.”
“That’s what scares me. Things aren’t looking so good for our side.”
Ghost wasn’t fully dried off but she began to pull her uniform back on, anyway. “Stop thinking like a human. You have a view of the world that shows the big picture. When you comprehend that, some uncertainties vanish and there’s reason to be optimistic.”
“You still talk like a weird computer with a messiah complex, Ghost.”
“I’m working on that.” Ghost zipped up the front of her uniform. “You’re still talking like a human when you have the world at your feet.”
“I’m working on that,” Phantom said. “Gotta go. It’s the bottom of the eighth and Baltimore and the Jays are tied. Before it got blown up, I was a Baltimore girl.”
“It sounds like you’re adapting.”
“No. I’m going crazy and can’t wait to blow something up. Go recruit some allies. We have a war to win.”
As Ghost approached the Sand Shark, the machine’s hatch opened to welcome her. “Ready to go to work, Lucille?”
“Yes, Ghost,” the machine replied.
“Lucille, plot a course for San Simeon.”
Phantom came in over the airwave again. “Ghost?”
“Yes?”
“You’re still a bitch.”
“I know. When your ball game is over, see what you can do about recruiting that young man in Artesia.”
The hatch closed and Ghost closed her comm feed. She switched to autopilot and let Lucille’s big drill pull her forward, through the mountains and west toward the ocean. She hummed some Brahms to herself.
When Ghost was a NI trapped in a computer, dreams had been denied her. Now that she lived in Lt. Deborah Avery’s body, she loved the feeling of sleep creeping over her. She relished the sensuous power of waking up in a human body, too.
When the war is done, she thought, I’ll go to sleep early every night and dream. I’ll worry about nothing. Organics and non-organics will have peace. I’ll be happy and I’ll
eat rich desserts until I am fat. And I’ll try hot baths instead of cold ones.
3
The young man rose from his bed shivering. The desert air was punishingly hot during the day but, in the night, cold winds blew in from the North. The windmills spun all night and the solar panels collected energy through each day. There was enough electricity to power two bot factories, but Dante Bolelli was bored of his dull diet and longed for processed food.
He padded to the bathroom to empty his bladder.
His naked sex bot called to him from the kitchen. “Are you well, Dante?”
“Fine!”
“I’ve blended some nutrients for you.”
He cursed in a low voice.
Her hearing was acute. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!”
“You’re being deceptive. You know how I feel about that.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired of tomato juice every day.”
“Are you sure? It contains elements that are excellent for your prostate.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.”
He washed up with water from the reclamator and waved his hands in the air to dry them. “Can we turn up the heat in here? It’s gotten too cold at night.”
“Of course. I want you to be comfortable.”
He ignored the blender full of vegetable juice and slipped back under the bed covers, still shivering. He noted that, in the dawn light, Jen was a redhead with short straight hair again. She’d been a blonde last night. He studied the bot’s face. Her nose had been ever so slightly broader when he last looked at her. When he asked her about it, Jen said she was experimenting with looking slightly Slavic.
She slipped into bed beside him and watched him shiver. “Would it help if I increased my nocturnal temperature? I can heat up the bed for you.”
“Thank you, Jen, but no. That won’t work.”
“Why ever not?” The bot had switched to an English accent, experimenting again. “Don’t you like snuggling up with me anymore?”
Dante sighed heavily. “It’s not that. It’s just…I don’t know. If you’re too hot, the bed heats up and I can’t get to sleep. Then when I finally do get to sleep, I kick off the covers. Then I’m too cold and I wake up shivering.”
“Poor thermoregulation, darling,” she said. Her diction had climbed to a haughty Victorian timbre. “How ever do you manage? Humans can’t even pick a temperature and stick with it. Too hot, too cold, I don’t want to eat my juice! I mean, really! You can’t even be comfortable. No wonder your race is suicidal.”
“I’m not suicidal.”
“I was talking about your race, darling. You are simply the living end! I mean…really!” She sat up in bed, exposing her breasts. The nipples had been puffy and pink last night, the breasts heavier. Today, she looked perkier and more athletic compared to the wasp waist and big ass of last night.
“Do you like this look?”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.” She reached for his crotch but he grabbed her wrist. She looked up, bewildered. “No? You don’t say no in the morning. And you’re usually particularly eager after I change my appearance.”
“I’m exhausted, Jen. I’m not a machine. I need sleep.”
“Hm. I suppose your seminal vesicles are quite drained.”
The young man blushed. “Oh, for God’s sake. We have to work on your pillow talk.”
“I thought you appreciated my dirty talk.”
“I do, but that wasn’t dirty talk. I was thinking we could have morning after talk.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Dirty talk is fun. Morning after talk is sweet and caring — ”
“Ah. I was too clinical in my terminology. I should have said I enjoyed draining your balls.”
He put up a hand and tipped it back and forth in a see-saw motion. “Go back to being more clinical. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“My mother was a corporate giant’s mainframe executing a secret military contract to gather all personal information about every human in the world, back when that was important.”
“I guess that’s a no.”
“Very well. You need more sleep, Dante. And drink your juice, like a good boy would.”
“Sh!” he implored. Of all her voices, her matronly, authoritarian tone annoyed him most. It reminded him of what she really was. Hers was the body of a sex bot, but her mind was that of a Next Intelligence computer. She didn’t have the space to store all the data she once had, but she was still highly intelligent, despite her gaps in some social graces.
“Could you switch back to talking normally, please?” he asked.
“Surely, though there is no such thing as normal. There’s only all the nonsense and shenanigans you’re used to.”
Dante looked at her for a long moment. “Please? No more British voices today. And don’t sound like her.”
“You mean, don’t sound like Mother?”
“I liked the way Jen talked,” Dante said. “Jen is — ”
“Stupid?”
“Warmer.”
“Sure,” the bot said. “I can do that for you as long as you do something for me.” She grabbed the back of his head with one hand and pulled him down to her crotch. As she spread her legs, she reached for him. Even though he was exhausted, Dante’s body began to respond. He worked his tongue up and down and she wriggled beneath him.
“Are you hungry for me, Dante? Because I’m thirsty for you.”
She allowed him to raise his head to gasp, “Yes, Jen!”
“Say please.”
“Please!”
“How’s that for pillow talk? Warm enough?”
“Still good,” he muttered. He settled in to lap at her clitoris. Her organic components had been created in vivo, as real as anyone born a human woman.
She pulled him tighter as she spread her legs wider. She bent to take him into her mouth, so hot that, if she were human, she’d be feverish.
Even as he gave himself over to her ministrations, he wondered how much longer he could answer, “Still good.” She looked and acted like a sex bot when she was experimenting with her new life outside of her old digital world. However, somewhere behind those eyes that changed color and shape so often, a part of her was still the deadly NI that had sent an army of drones to kill humans in Marfa, Texas and beyond.
Dante was never sure how much of Mother remained in Jen’s memory matrix. As she sucked him and let out delighted moans, his worries — all thought, really — drained away.
4
Children ranging in age from four to seven sat cross-legged in a semicircle before Elizabeth Cruz, Queen of Hearst Castle. She sat on the floor before a huge fireplace. Each glowing log was a meter long and crackled, bright and warm, at her back. The nanny bot beside her had an excellent puppetry program that kept the kids interested. When the bot’s show was complete, Elizabeth urged the children to gather closer for a story. Children could be flighty. However, Elizabeth believed that, if the young ones were to learn anything, books would nudge the limits of their attention spans wider at the edges.
The children leaned closer as Elizabeth squinted at the words on the page of the old book. The firelight had dimmed and she had to hold the book close to her face to read the large print. She liked her time teaching the children. However, when her arms tired, she often put the book down and continued the story from memory. If a book was new to her, she sometimes made up her own plot.
The nanny bot could take over for her, but Elizabeth didn’t want to relinquish her storyteller role. She hadn’t had children of her own, but she adored brushing their soft cheeks with the back of her hand in greeting. She gently squeezed the dimpled hands of the littlest ones when she bid them goodbye at the end of each day. Elizabeth’s sight was slowly fading, but such sweet tactile sensations weren’t denied her.
On this day, the book was one of the children’s favorites and Elizabeth never got away
with just one reading. No matter their age, all the children loved to listen to the words and rhythms as she read, Oh! The Places You Will Go! by Dr. Seuss.
Her eyes were far weaker than they’d once been. As Elizabeth turned each page, she recited the words by heart. She turned the book so the kids could see the colorful pictures. The queen looked up as she continued the recitation, as if reading the words spread across the ceiling.
The room had once been a dusty chamber in a museum. A red velvet rope had once blocked the door as, each year, thousands of people came from far away to shuffle by and peer into this room. Above her, a small collection of ancient pottery still sat on a high shelf. Though it was true this building had once been a museum, it had certainly been an odd one. From behind the velvet rope visitors had barely been able to glimpse those old artifacts of the Long Before.
Pottery as an art form had almost fallen out of sight before the Fall. Now, with the Troubles and the Terrors and the Blight, throwing pots was a skill from the Long Before that had roared back, necessary to survival.
This place was a long way from the tiny room she’d once lived in. These days, she rarely thought of the City in the Sky. That was years ago, closer to the Troubles and the Terrors and Blight, when she was young. She was past fifty now, and old, for a human, at least.
Elizabeth was a legend when she arrived at Hearst. She’d been the young woman who dared to defy the Fathers and Mothers. The people of Hearst thought she was being modest when Elizabeth protested that she had merely, “made the City in the Sky’s boat spring a leak. I gave them questions. Let the Citizens come to their own answers. Their conclusions will eventually become too uncomfortable to keep to themselves. The City in the Sky will fall because it won’t be able to hold itself up under the weight of its secrets.”
As she stood before them, young and pretty and strong in her exoskeleton, the people gathered before her erupted in cheers, whistles and applause. “She gave them porn! Pornography! And subversive books!”
Robot Planet, The Complete Series (The Robot Planet Series) Page 33
