Delilah looked at the dials and buttons on the console to avoid looking at the city skyline. “Rumor is it’s because you’re an asshole,” she said candidly, running her fingers along one of the instruments. It lit up a series of numbers, and she took a step back.
Rank laughed, a deep sound that came from somewhere in his belly. “It’s a persona I’ve worked hard to cultivate.” He half smiled. “When people are afraid, they don’t ask questions.”
But Delilah wasn’t afraid. “Why do they do it, then?” She sat on the stool next to Rank. Contrary to his name, he smelled like the sea. Saltwater and air. He adjusted his white shirt over his belly.
“Some have lost people.” He kept one wrist casually over the wheel. “For some, it’s principle. When you know what’s going on, it’s hard to turn back.”
Delilah leaned in. “What is going on?”
Rank looked out of the corner of his eye. His irises were bright green, astute, and aware. “Zane didn’t want you involved.”
Delilah tightened the elastic holding her hair back, but some escaped and blew around her face. “Well, I think we’ve gone past that.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “For the record, I always told him you were stronger than that. But then, I think he loves you.” He looked out the corner of his eye again this time with a smile. Delilah’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t take the bait. She couldn’t afford to. Not now, though Rank’s candid admission brought to mind long nights scavenging. Times Delilah recalled as happy because they were with Zane.
“The rumors, then, they’re true?” She snapped herself out of it.
“About the zoos? Yeah. That, and much worse.” He paused as a mechanical voice came over the radio. He responded with their route and arrival time. She thought the conversation was over, but after a pause, he continued.
“It’s worse, though. You’ve seen the armies they’re building. Well, rebuilding, I should say. The war took out much of their tech, but the blueprints were still there. The bots they’re making…well, let’s just say the era of human self-rule would be over. The era of human breathing could be over.”
Delilah picked at a stray string on her shirt. “Why?” she asked. “Why would they want to take us all out?”
“Control, kiddo,” he answered. “Humans, as a species, are very hard to control. We keep blowing up their warehouses and disrupting their plans.”
“That’s because their warehouses contain instruments of death!” she countered, but she knew from his smile this time he wasn’t taking the bait.
“Wars have been fought for less,” he said.
“But the stakes…” she said.
“For the bots?” he asked. “They rebuild. All it takes is a few left. For us, though…” He shook his head. He didn’t have to tell her. Annihilation. They couldn’t rebuild the human race from nothing.
A gentle knock interrupted them, and Gen poked her head in. She held a paper map rolled up in her hands, one she’d been working on to map the shore, and her cheeks had turned pink. She had the ability to get warm or cold, at least she was programmed with that, but how do you program a feeling?
“We’re almost there,” Gen interrupted.
“Isn’t the water cold?” Delilah stood up and looked through the front windows to the water, dark blue and churning. Until that morning, the weather had been unseasonably chilly.
Rank checked one of the instruments. “They’ll live,” was all he said, but he didn’t sound sure. He directed Gen to keep their course so he could get his people ready and see them off. Delilah stayed behind. Rank said they were only a half-mile offshore. She could see the buildings of Authority City, but no life inside. If the bots or prisoners were there, they were well hidden. The buildings on the shore were old commerce buildings, used by humans before the war. In the peace treaty, the humans had abandoned the whole city, though it didn’t look like the bots were doing much with it. They glided past an old, abandoned park, where a swing swayed back and forth in the breeze.
In a few minutes, the first of Rank’s crew dove. Delilah joined Rank on the deck to watch them go. He encouraged them before they dove in, one by one, in black wetsuits. They stayed in a perfect line as they swam to the shore. Their target was an abandoned lot. She stayed far enough away Rank didn’t notice her, but she could hear what he said to each person. He knew them, that much was clear. Not just their family situations, there was a lot of promising to take care of children if they didn’t return, but he knew what to say to give them courage. He even offered for each one to back out, but none did. If they backed out, they’d have to play the part of prisoner. Delilah wasn’t sure which was worse.
Rank met Delilah’s gaze before the last man dove in. He hardly made a splash, and his dark hair was barely visible under the water. Delilah couldn’t tell if they reached the shore. Gen had slowed the boat, but they couldn’t stop. They were too far past it to see.
“The same goes for you,” he said, stretching his back. He watched the swimmers as they disappeared out of sight. The other volunteers stayed inside the cabin. Only she and Rank were outside. “You can back out.”
She smiled. “And have you deliver me back on shore?”
“You act like you’re talking to an amateur.” He smiled back, but something other than joy clouded his expression. Something deeper. Scarier. Watching his men go had affected him. A storm brewed in his green eyes. “I have ways to hide people. The bots would never find you.”
Delilah shook her head. “Not an option,” she told him.
He stared at her for a moment.
“What?” she asked.
He took a couple steps back toward the bridge and she followed. Brute followed them with his eyes from inside, where he was getting to know the rest of their team. Delilah should be doing that, too, she thought.
“I met you a few times in the Banks, do you remember?” He opened the door for her. She stepped in. Gen was still manning the wheel.
“I remember,” she answered. It occurred usually when Zane was in some kind of trouble. Only the worst infractions got them delivered to Rank, so it had only been a handful of times. Gen relinquished control of the ship to Rank, telling them arrival was in fifteen minutes. Delilah’s heart fluttered.
“You’ve changed a lot since then,” he said, looking over charts. He slowed the boat, but it would only delay the inevitable.
“I’d hardly say you knew me then,” she countered.
Rank tipped his chin up. The humor was back in his eyes, but only barely. Their destination hung over them. “No. But what I saw then was a girl who looked down. Who wouldn’t meet my eyes. Who was soft-spoken and apologized.”
“I was in trouble at the time,” Delilah interrupted.
Rank nodded curtly. “You’re in trouble now, kid. But you hold your head up. You’re stronger. You just might have a shot.”
Gen took her by the arm and led her to the door. “Come on. Prisoners are usually inside, seated, and lined up.” She couldn’t read Gen’s tone, but if she had to guess it was fear, and that didn’t sit well.
“Good luck,” Rank told her, as Gen held the door open. “And remember, we’ll be playing a part when I get there. That old asshole Captain Rank is the one who deals with these bots. Far as they know, you’re a prisoner and we don’t know each other. Whatever I say, whatever I do—don’t take it personally.”
Delilah nodded. “Thank you,” she said. He went back to the wheel and Gen led her downstairs where Brute waited. He introduced the rest of the people playing prisoners, three men and two women of various ages. They looked the part, ripped and stained clothes, dirty hair, but when Delilah looked, all she saw was muscles and strength. Rank said they were his best, and they’d been training for this far longer than Delilah. All she had was her heart and her determination. It would have to be enough.
Gen gestured to the b
enches lining the inside room. “You’ll be waiting here,” she said, and added apologetically. “I’m supposed to be watching you. The story is you’re all volunteers, but it still wouldn’t look believable unless someone is keeping an eye on you.”
Delilah hugged Gen. It never ceased to amaze her how her body had give, like a real human. The bots had come so close to humanity, then backed off. She didn’t know if it was the war or the hive mind, but the newer bots didn’t have the curiosity of Gen. The ability to question and reason. The humanity.
“Will you be okay?” Delilah asked. It was no secret the new bots didn’t like the Gen Ones.
Gen nodded. “They tolerate us if we work for them,” she answered. It sparked more curiosity in Delilah. So Gen had worked for them before? She’d have questions for Gen later, but for now she sat on her hands, awaiting their fate.
The boat buckled as it hit waves. Delilah looked over her shoulder. They were approaching a long, silver dock where two, tall new bots were waiting. The red eye scanned the boat, washing them all in red for a couple seconds. Brute sat next to her. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. His were sweating, but his voice betrayed no nervousness.
“Showtime,” he said. And Delilah was in for the performance of her life. The other prisoners with them didn’t even shift. They set their shoulders and pursed their lips. She wished she had their bravery, or at least a fraction of their training, but what she had would have to be enough. She nodded and gave Brute what she thought was a reassuring smile.
“We’ve got this,” she said, though she didn’t believe it.
The boat slapped the dock with a hard jolt that almost jostled Delilah off her seat. She gave a nervous laugh and reseated herself. Brute frowned. She wondered if he questioned their decision to take her. Outside, Rank greeted the bots, and their high, robotic voice in return asking how many.
Gen shifted on her feet. “It will take a minute to scan the paperwork,” she said.
“Paperwork?” Delilah asked, with a roll of the eye. You couldn’t get away from bureaucracy no matter where you went.
“Send them out,” Rank yelled. His voice had taken on the gruff quality it had in the Banks—edgy and mean. Delilah hadn’t realized he’d shifted until she heard it. The hostility behind it sent a chill up her spine, and a realization that this was real. She was walking into Authority City as a volunteer, but she might never walk out. She stood straight. Gen gave her a smile before she opened the door, then wiped her face of all emotion. It was enviable, actually. Delilah was sure hers reflected fear.
They shuffled out in a line, with the other five prisoners in the lead. Rank’s face betrayed no recognition or emotion. He was practiced. Delilah kept her gaze down, mostly to avoid the one-eyed stare of the bot, which towered over her. The others walked off the boat and onto the pier where a bot waited to take them to what looked like a long golf cart. As each prisoner got off, they were scanned, presumably for weapons.
She was next to last to get off the boat with Brute behind her, when the robot held out a long, silver arm. Brute grabbed her arm or she would have walked right into it. The arm didn’t have the weaponry of the other bots, at least not visibly, but it would have knocked her down or given her a wicked bruise. She felt Brute’s arm flex, but he stayed quiet.
“That’s enough,” the bot said, in a high, mechanical voice. They all sounded the same, the bots after Gen Two. You’d think they’d change it up a bit—but then again, hive mind. Hive voice. It made sense.
“What do you mean?” Rank raised his voice. Delilah risked a look up. His face was flush and red. “I’m not taking them back with me.”
“Drown them.” The bot dropped its arm, but Delilah didn’t walk forward yet. For all she knew the bot would stab her.
Rank gave her a hard shove off the boat. She stumbled onto the pier and fell onto her knees. A sliver of wood cut into her palm like a knife. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but her ankle twisted on the way down. The bot had stopped Brute from helping her. Its arm held Brute back, and Brute’s face was even more crimson than Rank’s.
“That wasn’t the agreement,” Rank said evenly. “There’s no use wasting able bodies.” Delilah climbed to her feet, not sure whether to move forward or go back. She flashed a panicked look at Brute. He took a step forward, and the bot lowered his arm. Its red eye flashed in the way they do when they communicate with each other. It looked like lines of code crossed behind its eyes for a split second.
“Continue,” the bot said to Brute, oblivious to Delilah’s injuries. It was impossible to tell what direction the bots looked. According to rumors, they could see in every direction at once. The new ones in the warehouse were capable, but if Smoke was right, they’d been destroyed. The bot in front of her, while intimidating at ten feet tall, had one, electronic eye. It pinned her down as she scrambled into the cart with the other prisoners.
With one foot on the boat and one on the pier, Rank collected money from the bot. It burned to know Rank was collecting for their suffering, but they wouldn’t have gotten into Authority City any other way. Sometimes you had to get dirty to survive. It was a trick she’d learned in the Banks. She changed her attention to the view directly in front of her and got her first view of the city.
The closest buildings were over ten stories high, so that Delilah had to crane her neck to see them. Apartments once, she guessed, but most of the windows were washed out. The remains of stores were on the lower levels with pictures of food or menus on the glass. One storefront had a large yellow flower painted on it, though there was no one to buy flowers anymore.
The books that showed the cities of old, the cities that rose before the war, didn’t do the concrete landscape justice. Even the warehouses in the industrial zone paled in comparison. The buildings here rose up instead of out and seemed to brush the very sky. It made Delilah feel dizzy and small, and a little sick. The landscape would take forever to search, and Zane could be anywhere. She ran her tongue over the scrambler that was camouflaged in her tooth, giving a silent prayer it would work when the time was right. The little device might be her only way out.
The cart seated all eight of them, and Delilah and Brute sat together in the second row. The bot in the driver’s seat looked much like Gen, almost human except for his eyes, a milky silver. He’d been made in the image of an older man, complete with wrinkled skin and graying hair. He sighed when Delilah got in and the cart settled.
“Proceed,” the giant bot instructed, and the driver stepped on the gas. Delilah released a breath when they drove away and didn’t dare turn back.
“It’s natural,” the bot said. The cart seated eight, but no one had chosen the seat next to the driver. Delilah and Brute were the closest.
Her voice shook when she replied. “Excuse me?” Brute elbowed her.
The bot touched his hair. “The gray. It’s an improvement. Made to make me seem more human. It grays as I age.”
Delilah leaned forward. “You’re Gen One,” she stated rather than asked. “I have a good friend that’s Gen One. Gen, her name is.”
The bot looked back miserably. Delilah was so excited she hardly noticed the city speeding by. The store fronts, with their windows empty and washed out. The bot took his foot off the gas. “A Gen One bot? In the human zone?” he asked. “Do you keep her as a slave?” The last word came out as a sneer. “Is that why you’re being punished?”
“No, no, no,” Delilah interrupted. “She’s free. She lives with me. We…” Delilah paused, not sure how much to give away. “We learn from each other.”
Brute widened his eyes in warning. She knew she couldn’t give too much away, but she also knew the capacity of Gen One’s to learn, and even love. They could use an ally right now.
“Free.” He pondered. “That is not what they tell us. They say you enslave bots in the human camps. Destroy them.”
&nb
sp; “Only when they threaten us,” Brute grumbled. This time it was Delilah who elbowed him.
“Threaten?” the bot asked.
He slowed down at an intersection, but Delilah wasn’t sure why. No traffic blocked their way. There was nothing out here.
“Threaten, like, with weapons,” Delilah said. “Big weapons.”
“Big weapons. I have seen those,” the robot replied. He had an air of wisdom, maybe owing to his older appearance. Whoever programmed him had done a good job. He even had laugh lines on his face, though Delilah doubted he’d done much laughing.
“Do you have a name?” Delilah asked. They passed an old newsstand, knocked on its side. The last newspapers ever printed were still trapped inside. She could read the headline, but not the date: AI ROBOTS THREATEN CIVILIZATION. Before the war, then.
“I have not been given a name,” the bot replied.
Delilah shook her head. “That won’t do. What if we need to find you again? You need a name.”
The bot only frowned. “You will not need to find me,” he responded. Because, she assumed, she’d be busy being tortured. They quieted down as they passed a rounded building where a few bots hung around outside. Not the giant bots, or the Gen Ones, but something in between. Human-sized walking skeletons that somehow managed to look sad. They watched with vacant red eyes as the cart passed.
“My programmer was called Leo,” the bot surprised her by saying, but then, Gen Ones could be surprising.
“Leo, then.” Delilah sat back in her seat. “Where are we going?”
She shifted her attention to the city, which had been getting run down. Windows were smashed here and there, and weeds took over much of the street. The cart jerked back and forth over the bumps. Ahead, a marquee for a long destroyed theater sat blank, and the top of a skyscraper had fallen in on itself.
“For processing,” Leo replied, and his tone gave no room for further questions. It was okay. She’d done what she wanted. She’d made a connection, and sometimes connections could save your life. Another bit of wisdom she’d learned in the Banks.
Gen One Page 16
