Gen One

by Amy Bartelloni

  “Help me,” she told Whiskey. The woman raised an eyebrow but pulled chairs and a round, wooden table missing a leg down from the pile.

  “If all else fails, we can sit and have tea,” Whiskey commented wryly.

  “I don’t think there’s any tea,” Delilah answered. She wanted to get to the desk. It was flush against the wall and heavy. A few more pieces of trash and they tipped it right, and moved it.

  Whiskey had her own way to search for a way out. She’d pulled one of the legs off the desk and wielded it like a bat. “I’m not letting them take us to that creep,” she said with a shiver.

  Delilah pulled open drawers. “I knew people volunteered, but I had no idea it was for this.” She pulled at the drawers. They were filled with mouse droppings, and not much more. Old papers too faded to read. An old tablet that didn’t work. Pencils, even. “I think we have to play along,” Delilah said, pushing papers aside.

  “Delilah. Did you see what he did to Viper?” Whiskey asked. Delilah looked up. Whiskey’s eyes were full of tears.

  “I know,” Delilah responded. “And I’m so sorry.” Whiskey’s walls had been breaking down in the short time Delilah had known her. She seemed like someone who could be a great friend, later. But now, it was clear Viper had been more than a friend to her. Comrade. Sister. Maybe even more than that.

  “Help me look through these,” she said, motioning to the file cabinets behind the desk.

  Whiskey shook her head and rounded the desk. “For what?” she asked.

  “Information. The best weapon there is.”

  They made their way through the first two full cabinets, which were full of personnel files, and papers strewn across the floor. Rifling through the papers was at least something to take their minds off their fate. No one had come for them, and it had been at least an hour. The window for their breakout was closing. They were halfway through the last drawer on the right when Delilah found something that might be useful. Useful, but at the same time, terrifying. They found information on the origins of the so-called governor. And what they found did not make they feel any better.

  “A job application?” Whiskey held one of the papers up that they’d found in the desk. They’d stumbled on his employee file or application, presumably. They only knew it was the governor by looking at the photo on the corner. Somehow, he’d passed a background check, but just barely. The square photo showed his head and shoulders, and he wasn’t smiling, but tipping his head menacingly at the camera. His name was Josh DeWitt, a fact Delilah filed away. Names had power.

  “Displays aggressive tendencies,” Delilah read. “I’ll say.”

  “What is all this?” Whiskey flipped through the pages. Some were biographical. Some were personality backgrounds, which were vaguely informative. She didn’t need a psych write up to tell her the man was a psycho. Sorry—narcissistic. But what was his job, or the one he’d been applying for? There were pages in the report blacked out, and several missing. There was only one reference to the Robot Oversight Department, ROD.

  “The what?” Whiskey mumbled. Delilah sat back on her knees, and thought of the history that Zane always spoke of. It should have been a red flag that Zane was so interested in human/bot history. He knew more about it than anyone she knew, and he could talk for hours. She usually tuned him out as they were searching for trash or treasures, but some of it stuck.

  “The Robot Oversight Department. It was created when the first of the AIs came online. The Gen Ones.” She closed the folder and looked at Whiskey. “But the Gen Ones were all over the place. They couldn’t be controlled.”

  Whiskey grinned. “Like your Gen.”

  Delilah nodded. “Even I don’t know what she’s thinking sometimes. I mean, obviously. I had no idea she was involved in…” She trailed off. “Anyway, it was that department that created the hive mind as a way for the humans to stay in control of the bots, and stay one step ahead of them. We thought it backfired, that the bots took control, but I wonder?”

  She took the top sheet of the governor’s folder. He was younger in the photo, by fifteen years at least. He’d been involved in the program. She knew it in her gut. Why would the government hire a narcissist with violent tendencies, unless something was really amiss? He must have had a talent they needed. A talent to create the hive mind? But then, if he’d created it…

  She threw the paper back into the folder, and Whiskey stuffed the folder into the cabinet just as the door was thrown open. Two bots pushed a cart inside, and the bot that followed them in was none other than their gray-haired driver.

  “Leo.” Delilah climbed to her feet, but Leo put a finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet before he spoke with authority.

  “Inside this cart are the items you are to use to get ready for the governor,” he told them.

  “Ugh,” Whiskey interrupted.

  “Dismissed,” he told the other bots, but he stayed as the door was closed. He broke out in a smile. “Whew.” He wiped his brow and looked at Delilah. “That was the first time I’ve told a lie.”

  “Then we don’t have to wear this?” Whiskey dug in the bins in the cart and pulled out a thin, white nightgown.

  Leo shook his head. “I’m afraid you will, at least for now. It’s the only way to get you out of here.”

  She threw it on top of the cart, where there was an array of hair and makeup items, some that Delilah didn’t even know what they were for. She held up a long, flat item with a cord. Leo took it from her. “It’s to straighten your hair,” he explained. “That’s why I’m here. I have, well, a bit of a talent for beauty. I just never thought it would come in handy.”

  “Beauty?” Whiskey scoffed. “This stuff is disgusting.” She was thumbing through the other clothing under the cart, or lack of clothing. There were items in many different colors, but not much of it. The items would barely cover them, which was the point, she guessed.

  “I will not be able to get you out unless you look the part.” He examined Delilah with his gray eyes. She thought she saw a trace of mercy and understanding. These Gen Ones were always surprising. A bot that was kinder than a human.

  “Get us out, where?” Delilah approached the cart. She tried to pick out the least offensive clothing item, but they were all pretty hideous. Whiskey smiled and threw a black, lacy number at her. Delilah caught it and held it up with two fingers, then dropped it back into the pile.

  “I’m a friend of Gen’s.” He turned his hand over and unfolded a small paper. “She said to give you this.”

  Delilah unfolded the paper and unfolded it again. Her knees almost gave out as she saw Zane’s familiar handwriting. ‘We have a lot to catch up on. See you soon. Z.’ After the short message, was a crudely drawn representation of her ring.

  “What?” Whiskey asked. Delilah had the urge to fold it back up and hide it, but Leo took it from her before she had a chance. The tip of his finger turned orange and a flame leapt to the paper, destroying the only proof she had that Zane was alive in seconds. But that was just it—Zane was alive.

  “Ahh.” Whiskey read her face. “Zane, then.” She bumped Delilah with her shoulder. “We’re all kind of fond of him, you know.”

  Delilah rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet.”

  “Not like that. All he talks about is you.” Delilah looked up at Whiskey to gauge if she was lying, but there was only honesty on her face. “He’d like you a lot more in this number.” She held up a saucy black number. It had more fabric, though it was mostly lace.

  “Give it to me,” Delilah said, with a sigh.

  “You’ll only need to wear them for a short time, if the plan goes right,” Leo said. He took items off the cart, and plugged the straightener in to some mobile charging device.

  “And this plan is?” Whiskey asked.

  He bit his bottom lip. “Better if you don’t know.”

  Whiskey frow
ned as she looked at Delilah. “That means dangerous.”

  Delilah frowned. Dangerous was relative, at this point.

  “We can’t meet up with them for a while still, and they will expect you to look the part.” He looked at the floor, folding his hands in front of his fitted gray shirt. Come to think of it, Delilah thought, he did look much more stylish that the other bots she’d seen. Even his gray hair was cut fashionably.

  “Okay,” Delilah agreed. “Do your magic.”

  “Dee!” Whiskey admonished, looking at the pile of clothes. “I’d rather die.”

  “Unfortunately…” Leo looked up. His gray eyes were red rimmed. “That’s what could happen. Those who do not go along with the governor’s…plans,” he looked away, “are executed. Immediately.”

  Whiskey swallowed. “Okay, then. Maybe one of these isn’t so bad.” She dug head first into the box of clothes.

  Leo pulled over one of the chairs, and tested its weight. “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible,” he promised. His voice was soft, no sign of the electronic tone that the later gen’s had. Almost trustworthy. Almost human.

  “It might take you longer than you think,” Delilah joked, pulling an elastic out of her tangled mess of hair. It was no longer curly, but some kind of lion’s mane between straight and curls. Leo approached her with the straightening machine, and she shrank back.

  “Just try to relax,” he said. It was difficult to balance on the three-legged chair, and relaxing wasn’t going to happen. Instead she peppered Leo with questions while he straightened her hair and used something to make the auburn highlights stand out. When he laid a strand on her shoulder, she didn’t recognize it.

  “I’ve been doing this…job,” Leo hesitated. He pulled a strand a bit too hard, then apologized. “For a long time now. Getting girls ready.”

  “Ready for what, exactly?” Whiskey had planted herself in the corner of the room and chewed slowly on a granola bar that Leo had brought.

  He laid another strand down, gently this time. “You probably don’t want to know,” he responded. “Some girls last longer than others. Some he tires of in a day.”

  Delilah swallowed. “And then?” she asked.

  Leo took a deep breath—which was interesting considering he had no need for oxygen. He didn’t want to answer. “Usually, the zoos.”

  “Wait—” Delilah tried to stand but he had a hold of her hair.

  “Delilah, there is so much I could tell you about the zoos.” Leo’s voice was miserable. “But we don’t have enough time, even if we had all day. The rumors in the city are correct. They’re horrible places for humans to wait to die. To be taunted and tortured by the bots. To be experimented on.”

  Delilah’s eyes teared up. “Zane,” she said.

  “Gen is watching out for him,” Leo replied. “Until you can get there. If all goes according to plan, you will bypass the governor altogether and meet up with Rank’s men, then to the zoos. You’re all done.”

  Delilah stood. She had no desire to see what she looked like, but Leo handed her a mirror. She was still in her own clothes, but her hair and makeup were flawless. Her hazel eyes were highlighted in a smoky brown that was just enough. The sides of her hair were pulled up in braids, and the rest fell in loose curls. She reached up to touch it, unsure it was even hers.

  “You’re going to need a headdress,” Leo said to Whiskey, and the girl smirked at the notice of her buzz cut.

  “Whatever you say.” She took the seat Delilah had just vacated, and seemed to balance a whole lot easier, but Whiskey was all skin and bones. She could balance anywhere. Delilah took her spot on the floor, determined not to put on the outfit until the last minute.

  She had more questions for Leo, specifically about the zoos. While he made up Whiskey’s face, which was hard due to her grimaces, Delilah tried to phrase her questions. But before she got anything out, another more pressing question came to mind.

  “Do you smell smoke?” she asked, and that’s when the screaming started.

  Delilah jumped to her feet when the door slammed open. Her first instinct was to grab a weapon, but instead she threw the clothes in her hand at their aggressors. The weightless fabric fell onto the floor in a cloud, and Whiskey took a second to give her a look between amusement and frustration while she jumped up from the chair.

  “You’re going to assault them with clothing?” Whiskey asked, whipping around with the chair leg, but Delilah grabbed her arm.

  “Stop!” She pulled past Whiskey, not believing her own eyes.

  “Sir.” Leo held out a hand to the newcomer, but Delilah’s eyes had teared up almost too much to see. She stepped right in front of Zane as he shook Leo’s hand. He looked worse for the wear, sporting an eye so blackened and swollen she wasn’t sure he could see out of it, and he’d gotten sun. His skin was tanned and burned in places. He opened his arms to pull her into a hug and she shoved him in the chest hard.

  “Dee—” he started. His voice cracked, and she had a small degree of sympathy for him.

  “You. Kept. All. This. From. Me.” She punctuated each word with a shove, until he was at the door. Two more men stood behind them, and a couple more were opening the other doors. The smell of smoke was thicker. Puffs of white billowed down the hall, and one of the men behind Zane coughed.

  He held his hands up, palm out. “I was wrong,” he said. It was the only thing he could have said that would stop her in her tracks.

  “What?” She tipped her head. A lock of hair fell onto her shoulder which she didn’t recognize as hers right away.

  “I’m sorry.” He held a hand out to her, and she tentatively took it.

  “I’ve never heard you apologize,” she said. He winced when she took his palm. An inch long cut was on it.

  “I’ve never had to before,” he said, clenching his teeth. “We have bigger problems right now.” He looked over her head to where Leo and Whiskey waited. “They have the others,” he told them.

  Leo pushed his way out. The smoke was thicker and more people were coughing. “What others?” he asked.

  “They rescued some of us in the hospital.” Zane’s eyes flashed to Delilah. He wasn’t saying everything. “But Sunny, Gen, and some of the others mounted an assault on the zoos. I won’t leave them there.”

  Delilah wanted to squeeze his hand to let him know she was with him, but just the softest touch seemed to bother him. He limped as he backed up. What had they done to him?

  “There’s a boat at the meeting point to take some of the prisoners back. The rest of us will go to the zoo. Dee—please. Go with them.” He looked at her, at least his one good eye did.

  “Like hell,” she said.

  Whiskey pushed past them, covering her mouth with the scarf Leo had wrapped over her head. “We’re going.” She punched Zane in the shoulder and he staggered back. She eyed him up and down. “Maybe you should get on the boat, though?”

  Leo herded them all back toward the stairs. “We all need to get out of here.” He waved smoke out of his face. “What did you do?” he asked Zane.

  Zane looked back with as much of a smile as he could have on his face. He held tight to Delilah’s hand, despite the pain. “Watch,” he said.

  They made it halfway up the stairs when an alarm started wailing. Setting off the fire alarm was good, Delilah though, but the bots wouldn’t care much. They didn’t fear fire as much as they did water. That’s when the first sprinkles came down from the ceiling, though it was more sludge than water.

  “What is this?” Whiskey held her hands out to catch the drops.

  “It’s an old fire protection system.” Zane nodded up to the ceiling where silver pipes sprayed sludgy water. “One of the men Rank knew sent the layout of the fire system. A few well-placed smoke bombs, and…” He gestured around them, where the water was still going off.

&nb
sp; “Smoke bombs?” Delilah asked, brushing her freshly straightened hair off her face. “That’s genius.”

  Zane continued up the stairs. “Thanks, but it wasn’t really my idea.” He let go and flexed his hand. “Rank sent the best.”

  They reached the top of the stairs, and a group of maybe twenty of Zane’s friends and freed prisoners headed left and to the door. At the top of the steps, a soldier bot lay sideways, twitching. It tried to lift its arm to shoot, but the arm spasmed. Zane kicked its metal head as he passed by. The blaster skidded across the floor, and Whiskey picked it up. It was a small, cone shaped weapon with a button for a trigger.

  “Will this work?” she asked.

  “Not on the bots.” Zane held the door, and she stepped into the light. “But hold onto it. You never know.”

  Outside was a war zone. The bots had fled the buildings where Zane and the others set off the sprinklers, and giant bots stomped down the street, chasing off rebels.

  “We need to get out of here,” Whiskey said, but Zane’s knee buckled. Delilah put an arm around him but he still stumbled.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  She searched his shirt. He wore a green prison jumpsuit covered in blood in the middle. She lifted his arm to see a gash in his side.

  “Zane!” Whiskey unwrapped the scarf and Delilah used it to dab the blood, then tied it around his waist.

  “It’s fine,” he said, but he leaned his head back and rested it on the railing. He opened his eyes a slit. Well, his one eye. “It’s just a cut, Dee.”

  She frowned. “It’s more than a cut.” She looked around for Leo. He was directing the others who had escaped with them where to go. When she pulled him back to Zane, he frowned.

  “He needs to get to the boat,” she directed.

  “Dee—” Zane tried to interrupt.

  She knelt down in front of him and touched the side of his face that wasn’t hurt. How many times she’d imagined seeing him again, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t with war raging around them, with him so wounded she hardly recognized him. She’d wanted to scream at him for keeping secrets, for cutting her out, but for now all that anger fell away and what was left were only the important things. Suddenly she understood his desire to protect her because she was doing the same thing.