The Dead World (The Dead Room Trilogy Book 2)

by Erickson,Stephanie

  True, his celebrity often preceded him. And with the worldwide penetration of the bots in the last several months, he’d gotten a huge chunk of change squirreled away. He could pay cash for any one of these homes and not even put a dent in his account. Which was good. He’d need the money to buy supplies under the table from NASA employees…

  “What about this one here?” A for-sale sign stood in the yard. It appeared to have beach access and a good-sized lot. The street was quiet. He couldn’t think of a better place for he and Ashley to live out their days should the world come crashing down around them.

  “This is one we have to look at, yes.”

  “Well, let’s go.”

  It was perfect. Spacious, modern—everything he wanted.

  When he told Larry he’d take it, and to make them a good offer, Larry sputtered at him. “Whatever you think is fair is fine,” Ashby said. “I can’t worry about those details. You do it.”

  Forty-five days later, the house was his. He began hauling materials over immediately, and he bought a small piece of land out in the woods of the island. It would be his lab and storage facility. He really couldn’t imagine life without his work. And if he were going to retire there, he’d need a workspace away from others, where he couldn’t be bothered. He even had plans for a containment room for his bots.

  A tiny voice in the back of his mind that he didn’t really listen to wanted to focus on the true cause of the incident at CSMC. Had it really been human error or a malfunction? Results of an investigation were “inconclusive.” It didn’t give him a warm, fuzzy feeling.

  Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. If he’d known what would happen at CSMC, would he have created the bots anyway? He thought of all the lives he’d saved, the names, faces, and people he didn’t even know now that the program was largely autonomous. There were at least ten times more lives still on Earth because of the bots than had been killed by the bots at CSMC. At least.

  But somehow, the idea gave him little comfort. It wasn’t necessarily the lives lost at CSMC that made him panic. It was the potential that incident created. Before, he lived in a world of relative ignorance. He knew what they were capable of, but he’d thought he’d safeguarded against all that.

  This time, he’d make sure to protect what was important to him. No matter what.

  It took months to build what he lovingly called the dead room. He brought Ashley with him almost every weekend she could spare, and she adored it. He even showed her the dead room, although he didn’t call it that in front of her.

  “What’s all this for, Dad?” she asked him as she looked around at a half-finished metal door, walls lined with black metal, and a sophisticated panel of instruments.

  Ashby was busy screwing in something at the panel when he answered her. “It’s a contingency.”

  “Contingency for what?”

  “For a worst-case scenario, lovely.”

  She snorted in the way only an eighteen-year-old girl can. “Dad. Really?”

  “Really,” he said, staying focused on attaching the last screw to the motherboard. It was a brilliant design if he did say so himself. He could operate the bots from outside, set them to work, and never have to actually be exposed to them at all. No way would any kind of human error or malfunction be able to set the bots loose here. He’d added so many redundancies to the huge metal, bot-resistant door that they’d never get out of there unless someone carried them out.

  “Please, Dad. You’ve never been much of a shit-hit-the-fan conspiracy theorist. What changed?”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. She was beautiful, and she looked a lot like her mother. Same emerald-green eyes, same brown hair, although Ashley kept hers shorter than Judy and a bit more stylish, same tall, thin build. But she would be a better person. Ashby knew it. All he had to do was ensure she had the chance to show the world.

  She looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t know what to say. What did change?

  “Circumstances changed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I hope you’re right. I hope beyond hope that I am overreacting.” He walked away from the panel and took her in his arms. She leaned into him easily and he breathed in her coconut shampoo, making him want to squeeze her harder, to keep her safe like that forever.

  “Dad,” she said, more than a little fear in her voice.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But I do want you to be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?”

  “For the end.” He didn’t know if he was talking about his career, or something more.

  That night, he sat on the porch, looking out at the island. The waves crashed on the rocks nearby, creating a very calming atmosphere. He loved it there. Part of him wondered what would be so bad about spending the rest of his days on the island. Then he cleared his throat. The bad part would be if he hadn’t chosen to do so, but if he was forced because humanity was wiped out by his insatiable bots that had a mystery malfunction. He shook his head.

  Stop it, Ashby. Your worst case is getting fired and run out of town. That’s what you’re planning for.

  It was closing in on the end of summer as he sipped his tea in a rocking chair. Winters would be tough on the island. In fact, he didn’t think anyone lived on the island year round. It wouldn’t be easy.

  As he held his tea between both hands, he thought about some of the earlier bots, and the trouble he, and NASA, had with them. His bots weren’t particular. They liked metal just as much as they liked organic materials. They ate through a two-million-dollar piece of the Perseus, NASA’s latest rover, set to launch outside of the solar system to search for life in other galaxies.

  Ashby sighed. Yet another failure to mark down.

  His phone ringing ruined the peace he was reaching for.

  “Ben, it’s Jen.”

  His heart sank. She only called him for bad news. Well, that wasn’t always true. She’d done a great job covering his tracks with the CSMC thing. Ashley said Mendi was beside himself. The man had even called Ashby a few times and left messages pleading with his friend. Begging him to understand he hadn’t done such a horrible thing, and no matter what happened between them, he would never do something like that.

  Ashby knew that. They all knew that. Everyone except the media, who hung the poor guy out to dry. They latched on to that bit of gossip like piranhas, and then held on until there was nothing left of the poor man. Of course, none of his colleagues believed the gossip. They knew he’d been working, and far too busy for such childish things. Several of them even accounted for him, but the media wouldn’t have it.

  Every time Mendi called, Ashby couldn’t bring himself to answer. He knew he should apologize. Tell him it was a PR play—Jen’s idea. That she wasn’t supposed to name names, and he didn’t know how they’d dragged him into it. But he couldn’t do it. He’d come close once, until he heard Judy’s voice in the background of the message, calling for him to “come here.” She sounded happy. Happier than Ashby ever made her.

  He’d deleted the message, along with all the others. Eventually, Mendi quit calling. But he didn’t think that was why Jen was calling at seven PM on a Saturday night.

  “What can I do for you, Jen?”

  “We have a problem. Have you been watching the news?”

  “No. I’m afraid I don’t have a television out here. I’m on the island.”

  “There’s been a meltdown at Shands. Shands, Ashby. It’s huge. The news is all over it. Their program was much larger, and the loss of life reflects that. Plus, the side casualties of setting off such a massive EMP were tremendous. Nearly a hundred people, Ben.”

  One hundred people. He couldn’t breathe. The weight of their deaths constricted his lungs, as if each body was on top of him. One hundred people.

  “Shit,” he breathed.

  “It’s out of control, Ben. And someone will take control soon. It’s out of my hands.”

  “W
hat exactly does that mean?” he asked, a little frightened and perplexed.

  “I have to go. Best of luck to you, Ben,” she said, and the line went dead.

  He rested his hand on his knee, still holding on to his phone. When it rang, it startled him, and he nearly dropped it. He didn’t even look at the number.

  “This is Bennett Ashby.”

  “Ben.” The voice stopped him mid-rock, and he stood up slowly.

  “Please. I heard the news,” Mendi said.

  Ashby didn’t respond. He walked to the porch rail, clinging to the phone and thinking about pitching it into the sea at the same time.

  “I promise you. I didn’t do this. You have to know that. What can I do to help you?”

  “I…” He wanted to help? Or did he want information so he could betray him yet again? And yet, with his world falling apart around him, he felt desperate to reach out, to have that void created by Mendi’s absence filled again. To have a guide, a confidant, someone to help him through this mess he’d created.

  But instead of taking the gentler approach he so desperately wanted, a vision of him and Judy flashed in his mind. That same one that made him turn over the USB to the dean at the university. “How do I know you’re not just going to betray me again?” he spat at one of his oldest and dearest friends.

  “I won’t. I’m not. I have no stake in this, Ashby, except you. This world has a lot to lose here. I can feel it. I want to help.”

  “Just so you can clear your name?” Ashby accused.

  “No. Tell no one I helped you if you want. I don’t care. No one would believe me if I tried to say I helped. I want to stop this. I can feel it barreling down on us like a freight train, Ben. We need to stop it, or it will destroy more than just you and me.”

  His words made Ashby’s blood run cold. Before he could answer, another call came through. “I’m going to have to call you back.”

  “I hope you do,” Mendi said. Ashby didn’t respond before he disconnected the call.

  “This is Bennett Ashby.”

  “Mr. Ashby. My name is General Quelch. I answer to the President of the United States. You’re being summoned to Washington by the president. You will appear before a council of your peers, who will decide your fate. A car will come get you within the hour. Collect your things and meet it outside your home.” He was gruff. Ashby pictured him in a green uniform standing completely straight with one arm behind his back as he talked on the phone. He wondered how close he was to the reality of who this man was.

  “I—” Ashby responded, but the man had already hung up. His fate, it seemed, was out of his hands.

  14.

  March, 2025

  The ride to the nation’s capital was long and torturous for Ashby. He had no idea what they might do to him, or what might become of his bots.

  He tried to distract himself with data from the servers at Shands. It was confusing at best. A code he didn’t recognize was uploaded hours before the malfunction. Additionally, the data showed unprompted movements and decisions from the bots. Almost like they were becoming autonomous. But that couldn’t be. He needed to compare it to the data from CSMC, but he couldn’t because he was some kind of prisoner of only God knew who. Still, it made him uncomfortable to consider the possibility.

  They didn’t handcuff him, but they also weren’t friendly. No one spoke to him unless absolutely necessary. “Move here,” or “step up,” was all they said to him as he was herded through the airport and into another black car. They rode in silence all the way to the White House, leaving Ashby to stew about his future and how it had gotten so dark. Suddenly, he didn’t even know if his worst case would play out. Would he be allowed to retreat to the island? Or would he be held in some federal prison for the rest of his days?

  They parked in a garage underground, and then escorted Ashby inside. Although they hadn’t gone in the front entrance, Ashby was no less amazed by the ornate furnishings, art hanging on the walls, and lush finishes throughout the building. He’d almost forgotten the reason for his visit as he walked with his mouth hanging open down the hall, to a large set of double doors.

  “This way, Mr. Ashby,” the man on his left said as he opened the right-hand door and ushered Ashby through.

  “Ah. Here’s our guest of honor now,” the president said, with more than a little sarcasm in his voice. He was an intimidating man, older than some of their presidents, but Ashby found him to be more authoritative. He brought experience to the role, and the country thrived because of it. They were enjoying a golden age of technology, booming economy, and peace at this man’s hands. Along with all that came the miracle bots that were destroying his people.

  He glared at Ashby, but said nothing.

  “Bennett Ashby, please, take a seat.” A man dressed in a military uniform gestured toward a single empty chair at the center of a huge, circular room. The president sat in the center of one row of elevated seats, surrounded by several officials, and military personnel. The empty chair he walked toward faced the president. Behind that were rows and rows of others. From what he could tell, they were all types of people, scientists, heads of state, and more members of the military.

  “What are the latest numbers?” The President asked once Ashby was seated.

  “The death toll total across all incidents is climbing toward one hundred fifty souls, sir,” a woman seated near the president answered as she checked her tablet.

  “One hundred and fifty. Mr. Ashby, what do you have to say for yourself?” The president asked impatiently.

  “I…” Ashby wasn’t prepared for this level of attack right off the bat. He certainly didn’t expect them to thank him for his miracle bots, but they were making him out to be some kind of monster. “Look at all the good they’ve done, though. They’re worldwide, and improving the quality of life for everyone. Even those in third-world countries have access to clean water now because of C-bots.”

  “C-bots?” the presidents asked.

  That same woman piped up. She must’ve been one of his advisors. “Yes. A charity organization set up to bring bots into poor countries to aid with basic infrastructure.”

  “So the bots have worldwide penetration?” the president asked as he sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Yes, sir. That’s correct,” she answered.

  “We’re using them in almost every aspect of our operations,” a man dressed in a military uniform sitting to the president’s right said. “They can do just about anything we program them to do with regard to cleaning engines and machinery. They can get places you just can’t get with a toothbrush.”

  “They’re inside our own military?” the president said as he looked over his steel-rimmed, square glasses at the man dressed in full regalia.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Mr. Ashby, please tell me what you know about this epic failure that has cost American lives.”

  “I don’t know much. At first, we thought it was human error. But now, I’m not so sure. To be honest, they seem to be showing signs of autonomy. As if they’re…sentient.” It was an idea he hadn’t yet discussed out loud. One he only started to consider, but not something he wanted to give life to. But sitting there, surrounded by people who controlled his future, he saw no harm in stating his concerns.

  “Sentient?” the president asked wearily.

  “I haven’t had much time to study the data from Shands, or compare it to the data from CSMC, but the simplest explanation seems to be that they’re breaking free of their programming. Making decisions they shouldn’t be.”

  “What makes you say that?” one of the scientists seated to the left of the president asked, as he put down his clear glass tablet and looked at Ashby right in the eyes. He recognized him as the year’s Nobel Prize winner in medicine.

  Ashby wondered if Mendi would even be eligible for the prize, after the media storm Ashby had created. He certainly deserved it, but whether it was the prize, or th
e storm, Ashby wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

  “Their behavior patterns mostly, and the programming doesn’t add up.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out his own tablet. He’d left the screen opened to the data from the server. He stood. “May I?” He gestured with the tablet to the scientist. The president nodded, and Ashby approached.

  “See for yourself.”

  “This could still be a malfunction, could it not?” another scientist seated next to the Nobel Prize winner asked. He couldn’t place the man, but recognized him. Maybe he’d seen him at a lecture somewhere.

  “Yes. It very well could. But malfunction on this scale is unlikely.”

  “So is autonomy. This isn’t some Will Smith movie. They’re machines. Predictable. Reliable,” the second scientist added.

  “Indeed,” Ashby said, before going on. “There’s something else. A code I don’t recognize appeared shortly before the malfunction.”

  “Code?” one of the military officers asked.

  “I haven’t had time to analyze it, but one seems to point to the other. As if the code was uploaded and caused it,” Ashby said, not sure exactly what he was implying.

  “Have you seen this with the other meltdowns?” the president asked.

  “No. Well…” Ashby paused for a moment, realizing a fatal error. “I didn’t look that far back at the data from the others. I only looked when the actual malfunction started.” He felt as if the wind had gone out of his sails. Maybe someone was behind the attacks. But who? Certainly not Mendi. Was it possible it had nothing to do with Ashby himself, and everything to do with just bringing down the country, or the world? The thought sent a chill up his spine.

  “True terrorism?” the officer asked again.

  “It’s a bit early to determine that. Study the data at length, Mr. Ashby,” the president said, looking more than a little wary. “In the meantime, what can we do about it now?”

  Someone came over the intercom in the room, startling Ashby. He hadn’t even known it was on. “Deactivate them all, immediately.” The man had a thick British accent. There were representatives from more than just his country at his sentencing, it appeared.