Gen One

by Amy Bartelloni

  “Processing,” Brute scoffed. This time she didn’t elbow him, because if he was afraid, he should be. She was doubly so.

  She tried to remember times in her little apartment, or around the Banks with Zane. Dropping back drinks (him, not her) or just playing around. His dark hair. His smile. She’d had to give her ring to Gen, but the symbol was burned in her heart. The star of freedom, he’d called it. She didn’t need the ring anymore because the symbol would lead her to him.

  Bots populated this section of town. From soldiers, plain metal frames marching with guns to Gen One bots toting boxes from one place to another, or just walking. All watched the car with something close to curiosity. But she’d seen no humans.

  Leo pulled up to a building with a giant gold dome where a metal-framed bot waited at the bottom of a long staircase. The bot’s only human feature was a full head of brown hair, and a hint of brown tint in his electronic eyes. His hair was cut in a mullet Zane would have a field day making fun of. He looked like a stripped Gen One, or a half-formed one. Delilah actually felt bad for him. They all unloaded, and she softly thanked Leo. His electronic eyes actually watered up. Yeah, she’d made a friend, for all the good it would do her.

  “Follow me,” the new bot said, in something between a human and bot voice. She wondered if he were connected to the hive.

  “Where?” Brute asked, but the bot just walked on. There was nowhere for them to go but follow. The bots with the lasers were at every entrance to the building. It was an important place. Delilah remembered seeing something similar in a book. A capital, she thought. A seat of government and power. Whatever bot had set itself up here, it couldn’t be good.

  “After you,” Brute said. They reached the top of the stairs and Brute held the door for her. She skittered quickly past the jacked-up army bots at the door and stepped in, thanking Brute for the small kindness. As it turned out, it was the last human kindness she’d know for some time. She held on to the memory as she walked into the dark hall.

  Inside the old capital building, Delilah passed rooms that were once offices for leaders of the land. She didn’t recognize the names—history books were a little hard to come by nowadays, but the golden lettering on the door spoke of importance. Some of it was chipped off. Some vandalized. The authority symbol covered everything, the one that looked like anarchy in the outline of a bot head. Delilah couldn’t help but roll her eyes. It was a zero as far as originality.

  They reached the end of the hall. The lights overhead dimmed and flickered. So the bots had power, but it seemed like it didn’t always work. One of the switches popped and sparks flew out. The brown-haired bot leading them stopped in a small atrium.

  “Men, this way,” he directed. Delilah watched the way the bot kept his eyes low. He didn’t have much in the way of a face, but even small gestures could be telling. His metal lips pulled into a frown. She guessed he didn’t want to be here.

  “Luke.” She reached out and grabbed his wrist. It was her first moment of actual panic. Among the other volunteers Rank had enlisted were three men and two women, none of whom Delilah even knew.

  Brute covered her hand with his. “You’ll be okay.” He zeroed in on her with his eyes, and she tried to remember the plan. The one that had them somehow finding Zane and breaking out of here by nightfall? It was ridiculous. She started to hyperventilate. She knew they couldn’t say much. They didn’t know what kind of tech the bots had, but they had to assume someone was listening. Brute mouthed his next words.

  “We’ll find him.” Delilah took a deep breath. That was great, but the next part of the plan was just as problematic. One thing at a time, she reminded herself. She pulled herself together as much as possible. The brown-haired bot had already started to lead the men down a side hall. Brute gave Delilah a reassuring smile as he disappeared down the hall. At least it was supposed to be reassuring. She stood in line with two other women, one was tall and dark-skinned, her long hair pulled back, and the other, Delilah’s height, was a mix of races, so it seemed like she was everything at once. Her hair was cropped so close to her skull Delilah couldn’t tell its natural color, and brown irises focused on Delilah with worry. Delilah stood up straight. She was not going to be the weak link in this operation. She nodded.

  The bot left in charge of them wasn’t a Gen One. Or if he was, he had no personality or conscience. She wouldn’t get anywhere with him and she didn’t try. It wasn’t the robotic exoskeleton with no human components that gave him away, but the way his eyes would glaze over when he connected to the hive. It was only for a split second. In the new gen bots, you could barely tell when they connected, but this one was Gen Three or Four, she guessed. The worst.

  A silver exoskeleton covered this bot, but he had the shadow of a human face. He marched slowly in front of the women, eyeing them up and down with his red scanners. After scanning each one, he paused. Delilah thought he was uploading their identities, but to what, she didn’t know.

  He paused, tipped his head up as if listening, then said: “This way,” walking forward with no hesitation. The girl who had smiled at Delilah earlier took up the pace right behind her. She thought she remembered the girl’s name was Whiskey, or at least that’s what she was called, and the taller, quiet woman was Viper.

  “It’s all going according to plan,” Whiskey whispered in Delilah’s ear, which was a big risk. She didn’t dare say anything back. They traversed dark halls, where sometimes the overhead lights worked, sometimes they didn’t. They passed halls where bots were inside, mostly bot exoskeletons, and many soldiers guarding doorways. She did try to look, but there was nothing to see. Even the decorations had been stripped. They couldn’t remove the beauty of the building, though, and she appreciated it as they walked up the wooden, spiral staircase. She took a chance and ran a finger along the polished wood, wondering who the last person was to touch it. Who built it, and what would they think of their creation now?

  To the left of the staircase was a heavily guarded wing. Two armed bots stood on both sides of the doors, and Delilah knew more of them were inside. Whiskey whistled low at the display of firepower.

  “Something important in there,” she said, to which the bot replied in a mechanical voice: “Silence.”

  Whiskey rolled her eyes at Delilah in an irreverent way that made Delilah immediately warm up to her. If the woman was scared, she hid it well. And if they were going to die, they might as well do it fighting.

  “I have the Governor’s delivery,” the bot told the soldiers. It was then Delilah noticed the sign on the wall to the left. It was missing several gold letters, but it had once read “Office of the Governor.”

  The soldiers conferred silently, going into that creepy robot zombie trance, then in complete sync, took a step to the side to let them in. The leader didn’t acknowledge them any further, but strode in. Delilah and the others cautiously followed him as slowly as they could go without getting shoved. Delilah’s knees and palms still hurt from earlier.

  A window at the end lit the stuffy hallway. Robots stuck inside tended to smell like mechanics and rust, but there was more than that in play, here. Rot, she wondered? Something distinctly human, and base, and scary as all hell. She shuffled closer to Whiskey. The woman examined the space up and down. The dark marks on the white walls looked eerily like blood. Otherwise, the hallway was empty, save a couple chairs piled up in the corner.

  The bot passed a large room on the left which once may have been a conference room. Artwork was still hung on the walls, curtains hung from the windows, and a full table seemed to have been recently in use by the way the chairs were thrown back haphazardly from the table. Interesting, Delilah thought. Bots had no need to conference; they could connect internally.

  “Stay,” the bot instructed. Delilah and the others hung to the side of the conference room. She leaned over to study a portrait of a dark-haired man hung on the far side of the room. She
couldn’t read his name, but it looked like the nameplate was missing, anyway. A former leader, and a human one. Proof they’d once existed here.

  Whiskey saw her looking and peered in. “How do you think he’d like this place now?” she asked, with an uncomfortable smile on her face. Delilah tried to study her face, but it was the kind of mask that hid a lot. Smooth skin that wasn’t light or dark, and dark eyes that covered all kinds of emotion. She was brave though.

  Delilah leaned in and spoke as low as she could, though still loud enough to be overheard, she supposed, if there were listening devices in the room. “Are you looking for someone?” she asked. “Someone who was captured by the bots?”

  Whiskey’s mask fell for the briefest of seconds, exposing her surprise, and hurt, maybe fear, but before she could answer, the bot returned. “The humans may enter,” he said. He stood next to the door, ready to chase them down and pull them in if they refused. One look at the army bots and Delilah knew there was no refusing. Wherever they were headed wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would be better than being vaporized by a blaster. She hoped, anyway.

  Viper went first and led them through what was once a reception area. The remains of a meal, plates with bits of fruit and meat on them, sat on a broad desk next to a door. Delilah’s mouth watered, but she wondered who it was for. Bots didn’t generally eat. There were two more soldier bots on the sides of the door. They didn’t move at all as the women approached. The bot didn’t follow them, but the door ahead was cracked open. Viper raised a hand to knock or open it, then hesitated.

  “Come on in,” a voice called from inside—a human or Gen One voice, unless the bots had made some real headway in tech. The smell of smoke wafted out of the room. Cigar smoke. Delilah knew it from the Banks. It was what Rank smoked.

  Viper pushed the door open. Delilah couldn’t see past her until she took a step to the side, but she again hesitated and looked back, her face screwed up in confusion.

  “I think we’re in the wrong place,” Whiskey muttered as she stepped into what was once the governor’s office. The large desk was still in there, and the walls were still painted a bright blue with crimson curtains half parted to let in the sun. It wasn’t the decorations that were confusing, but the man behind the desk. Delilah’s gaze locked on his eyes. If he was a bot, he was covering it well. His irises were deep brown, and crinkled in amusement. He sat behind the desk with his feet propped up and a cowboy hat on his head, which he tipped to them with gloved hands.

  “Ladies,” he said, taking his feet down. “Where are my manners? Welcome to the Governor’s office.”

  There was a beat of silence in the office as they all absorbed the shock of seeing a human behind the desk. He had long, dark hair under his hat, and a deep brown goatee, a color that matched his eyes. Eyes surrounded by laugh lines. Delilah guessed he was her parents’ age. He smiled at them as if this was a friendly get together, but there was something predatory about the turn of his lips, and the way his eyes lingered on them. He took his feet down from the desk and folded his gloved hands.

  Whiskey jumped right in. Delilah hadn’t known her long, but she appreciated the woman’s ability to cut right to the chase and say what was on her mind. “Where are the others?” she asked. She’d taken the farthest step into the room, but she was still closer to the door than the desk. Though he sat up with his hands folded on the desk in front of him, something about this governor wasn’t quite right. The fact he was, presumably, a human in a bot-controlled city was only the tip of the iceberg.

  “Do you mean the men?” the governor asked with an insincere grin on his face. “I have no need for men,” he answered darkly. “Not here. What did you think you were volunteering for? I wouldn’t let anyone as beautiful as you ladies haul boxes. I thought that was understood.”

  Whiskey cursed, and Viper was actually brave enough to rush the desk and attack him. Whiskey tried to pull her back, but it was too late. The governor was fast. He pulled a blaster out of the desk, and a flash of light filled the room. When Delilah opened her eyes again, all that was left of Viper was a pile of ash.

  “I have need of women, but not that badly.” The governor stood up from behind the desk. Whiskey choked back a sob, and Delilah gaped at the singe in the floor that was once Viper. It was still steaming.

  She took Whiskey by the arm and pinched her before she said anything to get herself incinerated next. Delilah gave her a stern look that she hoped read to be quiet and they would deal with this, but probably came off as terrified. The emotion fell from Whiskey’s expression, replaced by a blaze of anger. She turned to the governor, but kept her mouth closed.

  “That’s better,” he said, lowering the blaster, but not putting it down. The room smelled like smoke and burned human remains. Delilah tried to block it out, but she couldn’t stop staring at the pile of ash. It was a perfect mound on the carpeted floor, but by no means the only singed spot. There’d been death in this office, for sure, and recently. The hint of decay hung in the air.

  “The men,” he answered, “are here for a different purpose.” He walked around the desk slowly, each step of his cowboy boots like a gunshot. “That doesn’t concern you, though.”

  Delilah’s heart thundered. She raised her eyes from the governor’s fancy black boots, to his jeans, to a shirt and blazer. All he needed was a badge, she thought, to be sheriff, but there was nothing funny about it. She’d dreamed a million scenarios about Authority City, but being some psychopath’s sex slave was not one of them.

  He put a hand under Delilah’s chin and tipped her head up forcefully. She tried to avoid looking in his eyes and blinked away a tear.

  “I like redheads.” He winked. His breath was stale and threatening. Delilah forced herself not to step back. She was playing a part, for as long as she could stand it. Still, her stomach heaved. He let go and took a step back, and Delilah could breathe again.

  “Clean them up,” he instructed the bot by the door. She couldn’t tell if it was the same one who took her in. The bot skeletons looked too similar to tell them apart.

  The governor rounded the desk, but Delilah couldn’t let the chance slip past. Even though she’d tried to silence Whiskey, this might be their only chance to find out what was going on.

  She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and tried to look sheepish, though her hand trembled. “We didn’t expect a human leader in Authority City,” she said. Whiskey stopped walking to the door and gaped at her.

  The governor sat down in his chair with a smile. “Mostly human, anyway,” he said with a wink. “And it’s a well-guarded secret.”

  Whiskey gave her the same look that told Delilah to shut up, but she wouldn’t. Not yet.

  “How do you get them to follow you?” she continued.

  He considered her. Judging motive, she guessed, but what did she have to lose? Even if he thought she was a spy, there were no escape routes. He looked like the kind of man that liked to brag, and Delilah was right about that. He leaned forward on the desk and placed his hat on the corner.

  “They have a hive mind.” He opened his palms as if that explained everything. “If you control the hive, you control the minds.”

  Whiskey waited at the door with the bot, but Delilah hesitated. There was more to it. “But how do you control the hive?” she asked.

  He studied her with a half-smile. “Aren’t you a curious one?” he said. He leaned back and tucked the fingers on his glove. “Stick around long enough, and you just might find out.”

  At this, Whiskey stalked out, and the bot took Delilah by the arm and dragged her. She had just enough time to turn back and see the governor pull his thick black gloves off and reveal hands of flesh mixed with silver. She gasped. Hybrid. She’d never seen anyone so tightly woven together. It reminded her of the girl who washed up on shore, but these were seamless. The governor’s hands were metal mixed with flesh. He smiled at
her on the way out, the way a wolf smiles at a sheep.

  The bot let go of her arm as they walked back the way they came. More bot soldiers gathered in the hall now, but curiously, she swore she saw men in the conference room. They were dragged past too fast to see clearly, but Delilah saw no hint of Zane or Brute or the others.

  Whiskey surprised her by reaching out to take her hand. It was difficult to keep hold of, but when they rounded a corner, she could see how pale the woman had become. She squeezed it back, and tried to project confidence and calm, but the reality was they were screwed.

  There were no more men or bots in the halls as they went all the way down the stairs. It was a good thing for the electric lights since they were below ground in an area Delilah assumed were once offices. The smell was worse here, human refuse and remains. And as they passed the former offices, moans and screams echoed out from inside. Each door had a bot guard, silent and unmoving. Their bot guard led the way to an unmanned door, turned a key, and opened it.

  Inside was nothing more than a cell. The office furniture that once occupied the office was piled up into the corner. The burning odor was so thick Delilah gagged. She had no choice but to go in. There had once been a carpet, but it was worn and threadbare, showing rotted wood underneath.

  “You will be provided new clothes and water to wash,” the bot said as it slammed the door.

  “When?” Whiskey shouted, but the door was thick. The bot might not have heard her even if it wanted to.

  A single bulb hanging from the ceiling lit the room. Whatever other kind of lights they had stopped working a long time ago. She ran her hands along the wall, plaster with holes in them. Nothing they’d be able to break through. She made her way around the circumference of the room. Not much smaller than her apartment. She made her way over to the office furniture piled up.