by J. C. Staudt
“We’d better get Pearson up here first. But tell me… how does a law-loving Civvy like you come into possession of augments like those?”
“We don’t all decide to become marshals in the maternity ward, you know,” Zilch said. “And I didn’t get my nickname because it sounds like Zilenski. I got it because I never met a lock I couldn’t beat.”
“You’re a thief-turned-Civvy?” I said. “Now I’ve seen everything. What made you decide to take the straight and narrow?”
“Had a close call with the authorities. Figured I ought to quit while I was ahead and start playing for the other team,” he said, grinning.
“Well, that was stupid. I didn’t respect you thirty seconds ago… Now I respect you even less. I have a buddy who’s suffering from your same lack of sound judgment right now. He’s a crooked Civ who plans on going straight.”
“He’s a smart man. You can’t run from the law your whole life.”
“There was a time not too long ago when I would’ve agreed with you. Now, I’m not so sure. I figure I’ve got a few good years of running left in me. And hey, now that my record’s clean, I’ve got a lot of make-up work to do on that front.” I was only partly joking.
Zilch didn’t seem to like that answer, but the sound of Pearson’s shouts from below interrupted our conversation. “Hey. What are you guys doing up there? You okay? You’re making me nervous.”
“Yeah, we’re fine,” I shouted back.
We used Zilch’s grapplewire to hoist Pearson up over the damaged railing, nearly losing both him and our balance a couple of times. Beyond the door was a hallway—the first actual hallway fit for human occupancy we’d come across since we entered the sewers. There were pipes running along the ceiling—carrying what, I couldn't say. And where the hallway ended, a split staircase allowed us the choice of up or down.
“That way must lead to the street somewhere,” I said.
“Then that’s where we’re going,” said Zilch. “No more sewers.”
“Probably worth at least a look to see where we are,” I said. “But if we’re not inside the circle, we’ll have to come back down.”
Zilch frowned, but said nothing.
We ascended. At the top of the staircase was a small room with a single door. I cracked it open and peered out. A small fenced-in yard stood around our tiny outbuilding, which was flanked by two circular concrete pads with overflow spouts. To one side of the fence was a rural-looking street; to every other side, a dense wooded area. The sky was still dark, and the rain was still a persistent drizzle.
“I have no idea where we are,” I said. “It’s a pumping station or something. Doesn’t look like the city center, though. If anything, it looks like we’ve gotten further away from the palace.”
“Time to find our way back to Yingler and get out of here before the fleet arrives,” said Zilch. “Gimme your comm.”
“I’ll make the call myself,” I insisted. But when I took out my comm, it was so waterlogged it wouldn’t even power on. My compartments, too, were dripping with murky water.
Before we went any further, I figured it was time I checked the contents of my backpack. I sat down on the hallway’s concrete floor, pulling out soggy equipment and pieces of broken glass. Now there were only two jars that hadn’t been damaged or shattered. I didn’t see how Chaz could make anything out of this stuff now.
I sat despondent for a minute, my hopes of taking control of the Evelyns all but dashed. But even if Chaz couldn’t rebuild my remote, I wasn’t going to leave him and the others trapped beneath the palace. If I died trying to get to there—or if I got there, only to die with them—then so be it. Trying and failing was a better option than running away with these law-loving cowards and leaving my friends behind. I wasn’t sure how or when I’d gotten caught up in this whole ‘helping people’ nonsense, but it was a lot harder than it looked.
I shoveled the components into the backpack and swept the glass fragments into the corner. Then I stood and pushed the door open. “You coming?”
Pearson and Zilch followed me out into the rain.
The chain link fence was topped with razorwire, so Zilch picked the padlock securing the gate and we stepped out onto the shoulder of the road. This time, I looked both ways. To our right was a long stretch of highway, nothing but pavement bordered by tall trees as far as the eye could see. To our left, a grand cluster of government buildings towered over the city center.
“We’re closer than I thought,” I said. “Looks like we overshot the circle by about half a mile. If we head back down—”
“No thanks, Jakes,” said Zilch. “No more going down anything. You saw that chamber yourself. There was no way through it.”
“There was a staircase,” I reminded him. “A staircase going down.”
“Do you really think we need to go back down, Muller?” asked Pearson. “I mean think about it… those buildings near the city center are tall, right? We could just travel along the rooftops.”
I opened my mouth to contradict him, but the idea struck me as a good one. “The buildings vary in height so much it’s not going to be easy to get from one to the next.”
“We have Zilch’s grappler,” he said. “All we really have to do is make it past whatever street the robots in the circle are guarding. Once we’re inside, things should get easier.”
“Famous last words,” I said.
“If you’re worried about being spotted, why don’t we find something you can use as a mask?”
“For all I know, the robots can identify me by my eyes alone,” I said. “But I guess we could try.”
“What do you think?” Pearson asked, turning to Zilch.
“I think what I’ve always thought. We head back and find Yingler.”
“If that’s what you want to do, then go,” I said. “I’m tired of hearing you say it over and over again. Just get going, already. Pearson, I think your idea is the best chance we’ve got. We’re running out of time, so I say we roll with it.”
I started off down the road. Soon I realized that both Pearson and Zilch were following me. “What are you doing, Zilch? Aren’t you going back?”
“This is the way back,” he said. “We overshot our mark, remember? We’re all heading in the same direction… for now.”
“Fine.”
The trees soon began to recede. Buildings cropped up on either side of the road. Sodden and smelling a treat, the three of us entered the first clothing store we found. I bought a shirt, which I tied around my face before we continued on.
A trio of Mark-Sixes stood guard at the next intersection. With a deep breath, I rounded the corner and started across the street, praying to Leridote for mercy. I kept my face turned away from the automatons as we passed.
When we were halfway over the crosswalk, one of the robots snapped its head in our direction. I could feel its eyes following us, but I never broke stride. Then its whole body turned, the weapon on its arm gleaming beneath a patina of raindrops. I felt my medallion surge and got ready to run. Don’t, I had to tell myself. Don’t run, or it’ll know you’re up to something.
To my surprise, the robot didn’t stop us. It turned away and set its gaze on the next set of pedestrians entering the intersection.
“That was a close one,” I whispered to myself.
“What was that?” Pearson asked.
“I said we almost got caught.”
“I don’t think he saw you. Anyway, the circle is just ahead. You can see it a few blocks down.”
I did see it, the line of robots standing like statues in the distance. There were dark heaps in the street around them, leftovers from last night’s fighting that no one had dared retrieve. Beyond them stood the increasingly tall buildings of the city center. Somewhere inside that imposing labyrinth was the Regent’s palace, and a synod whose activities I no longer had the slightest notion of.
The comm in my pocket bumped uselessly against my thigh as I walked. As much as I had tried not to
let my nightmares get the best of me, being disconnected from my friends had unleashed a frightening tangle of worst-case scenarios in my mind. We were too late. They were already dead. The synod knew where I was, and they knew I was coming. I found myself having to shake away those feelings of dread as we traversed the next several guarded intersections, so as not to lose my composure and go completely off the rails.
Our luck held out, though. We made it through the final intersection without a hitch, enduring the lingering stare of a curious robot. Now we were on the home stretch; there was just one remaining city block between us and the circle of robots. There would be no way to avoid the gaze of those robots when they were standing all around me, so it was fortunate that we were planning to go over their heads.
The building which encompassed that long block was at least ten stories tall; the one across the street was closer to a dozen. The building’s entrance was about two thirds of the way down the block, which meant we’d have to come close to the circle before we could get inside. All we’d have to do from there was find a way to the roof and get ourselves across.
As soon as we got across that final intersection, we stopped on the sidewalk at the corner. Pearson and I glanced down the block at the circle of Mark-Sevens while Zilch looked left to study the route he planned on taking.
“I guess this is where we part ways, Zilch,” I said. “Thanks for being an uptight prick. And for trying to save me back in the sewers.”
Zilch’s brow furrowed, but he accepted my offered handshake and turned to head down the sidewalk along the side of the building. He had only taken a few steps when the trio of robots at that far intersection turned and began to come toward us. It wasn’t until I looked back into our own intersection that I realized the three automatons behind us were doing the same thing.
I cursed. “I’ve been recognized,” I said. “Run.”
We broke into a sprint down the block, Zilch opting to stay on our heels rather than face the robots by himself. I could see the awning over the building’s entrance ahead, which read: Delfonte Hotel. But as a third troupe of automatons advanced toward us from that direction, it quickly became clear that we weren’t going to make it before they did. Zilch shot his grapplewire and zipped straight up the side of the building, leaving Pearson and I to fend for ourselves.
“If you’ve got any mods that might help, now would be the time to use them,” I told Pearson.
“I can fix a damaged robot,” he said.
“Great. Maybe Maclin will hire you posthumously.”
The automatons converged on us, cutting off our escape routes in every direction. One thing struck me as curious, however: none of them were shooting at us. They clearly had me in their sights, but they weren’t trying to kill me. Maybe they can’t, I realized, remembering how they’d stopped firing back in the square when I’d stepped up to the front with my flecker shield. Maybe they still can’t harm me because I’m hardwired in as their master.
If that was the case, what were they doing? Apprehending me to bring me before the synod? I hoped not. I would rather they’d just started shooting.
“Pearson,” I said, “they’re after me, not you. I bet you if you stop running, they’ll come right past you.”
“How sure are you?” he asked.
“Relatively sure,” I said.
Pearson kept running.
Whether or not he was safe, I still didn’t have anywhere to run. I caught sight of a manhole cover in the middle of the street. I glanced at the building, wondering whether I could climb up the side. Not fast enough with this arm, I reminded myself. In another week or so, my telerium bones would be strong and new again. But right now, with the open wound from the hood ornament adding to the arm’s dubious capabilities, it was no good.
Zilch was clinging to a window ledge about three stories up, unaware that the robots weren’t after him. I was okay with him thinking they were, though. I knew there was no time to lift that manhole cover without them catching up with me. They were almost to the building’s entrance now, so that was out. The only direction I could go, it seemed, was in.
I sped up until the three groups of robots were nearly on us. Angling myself toward the building, I pivoted on my heel and leapt.
I was pleased to find the first-floor windows decidedly un-shatter-proof. I was not as pleased when I landed on a bookcase whose shelves were about as sturdy as matchsticks. After falling through several tiers of cleaning supplies, I scrambled to my feet with bottles of soap, detergent, and window cleaner crashing down and bursting open around me.
I had spent enough time running away from people to know you never go the first place they expect you to. In the automatons’ case, I didn’t think there was much expectation in their programming. That meant outwitting their sensors was my only chance of escape. Pearson, on the other hand, probably only needed to step out of their way. The poor guy was still picking his way through the wreckage when I dashed out the supply closet door and sprinted down the hall.
As I was nearing the lobby, I saw the desk clerk’s eyes go wide. One of the bellhops dove out of the way as glass exploded through the entrance and showered the front desk. I hit the brakes, intending to reverse direction. Behind me, Pearson was coming in hot. The first robot crashed through the closet doorway, covered in brick dust and scouring powder. The other two followed right on his heels, knocking their own holes in the plaster.
“Follow me,” I shouted, driving a shoulder into the nearest door. The latch didn’t budge, and neither did the door. I grunted as the pain shot through me, a reminder of why I’d been taking it easy with that arm. “Crap. Never mind,” I said. “Get in the fetal position. They’ll ignore you.”
“Forget that,” he said. “I’m going with you. Which way?”
I shrugged, then took off toward the lobby. The robots coming through the main entrance were dragging the hotel’s awning and parts of the doorframe with them, moving like bathroom-goers who didn’t care if they were wrapped in toilet paper. I slipped past the closest robot as it reached out and snapped its fingers closed on thin air. Its massive hand came so close to my arm I could hear the digits clicking against its palms. Pearson ducked around them and came after me. The robots didn’t so much as move to stand in his way, so I knew he wasn’t in any danger. He stayed with me nonetheless.
We passed a lobby full of elevators and charged through the stairwell door, hoisting ourselves up by the handrails three or four steps at a time. The automatons crashed in like a herd of gorillas, clumsy and top-heavy. Their feet overlapped each stair by half; it was like me trying to run up the staircase on a toddler’s play slide. The robots tripped every few steps, only to rise and regain half the staircase on their next stride.
On his way up the fourth staircase, Pearson slipped. I was starting on the fifth when I saw him go down. He could hardly get out of the way now; if he didn’t keep moving, they were going to trample him to death.
6
Committing my most selfless and foolish act so far that day, I turned back and lunged for Pearson’s hand as the robots came thundering toward us. With a hard yank, I lifted Pearson toward me just as the first robot’s foot slammed the step where his lower leg had been. I shoved him up the next staircase and shouldered my way through the third-floor access door.
I heard the robots making cookie-cutter shapes out of the door frame behind me as I sprinted down the hall. It wasn’t that I had wanted to leave Pearson; it was that I’d wanted to get him out of danger. But no good deed would spare me its punishment today, it seemed. The form of a burly man stumbled into the long hallway ahead of me, a woman’s scream echoing from the room behind him. Zilch, I realized at once. The big dumb jerk had climbed into the hotel instead of lowering himself to the ground outside.
“Get out of here, you dummy,” I yelled, making a clearing motion with my arms.
He stood dumbfounded while I bolted toward him, as if he’d never seen such a good-looking fellow before in his life.
It was the mob of nut-heads on my heels that had garnered such a reaction from him, of course.
“Are you deaf?” I said. “Move!”
He got moving just before I reached him, forcing me to sidestep his stunted acceleration. I hooked his arm and dragged him along with me, slowing down to match his stride even though the robots were gaining on us. When the right moment came, I was ready.
A man opened his door and poked a curious head into the hallway to see what all the commotion was about. When Zilch got there, I lowered my good shoulder and sent him sprawling through the doorway. He and the man both went tumbling out of sight seconds before the robots lumbered past. That’s the last good deed I’m doing today, I vowed. I’m going to get myself collared if I keep being so nice.
There was an identical stairwell at the far end of the hallway. I was getting tired, and I still had seven more floors to cover. Without my two meat-headed friends to slow me down, I used the handrails like ski poles and practically threw myself up the remaining flights. The robots never lost an inch of ground. So when I finally threw open the door to the roof and tore across the pebbled surface like a marathoner on his last quarter mile, there was no time to stop and decide whether I thought I could make it across the gap between this building and the next.
I couldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. But I tried.
When my foot hit the ledge, I sprang off my hydraulics with the medallion’s green juices surging through me like water through a firehose. It was the furthest non-solenoid-assisted jump I’d ever made, and my body seemed to hang in the air for a duration approaching infinity. Behind me, the robots stopped short and bunched together like a three car pile-up. The one in front toppled over the edge and plummeted to the street below.
Speaking of the street below, the gently curving line of automatons in the protective circle looked like toys, perfectly arranged and standing guard over no one but the dead. I had a brief sense of elation at having beaten them somehow as my body flew toward the building ahead, well shy of its rooftop. It was Maude Fitzsimmons’s house all over again, except this time there was no fire escape to catch me. I need to stop jumping off of things, I decided.
