Tin Men

by Christopher Golden

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  Khan lay in a gray mist. He could hear voices around him but he could feel nothing, not even the weight of his own flesh. It seemed almost as if he were floating, as if his spirit had left the cage of his body behind and drifted now, nothing but a phantom.

  The voices spoke in English. Some of them had the tinny artificiality of robot voices. I’ll haunt them, he thought. Now they will never be rid of me.

  “His eyes are open,” one of the voices said. A human voice. American.

  “They’ve been like that for half an hour,” a robot replied.

  Khan remembered that voice. Danny Kelso.

  A groan escaped his lips and he took a deep, shuddering breath as he swam up from the depths of consciousness and broke the surface. The weight of his body returned and with it came the pain, as if it had been dropped down onto him from above. His jaw tightened and he hissed air through his teeth.

  His ribs. Something definitely fractured in there.

  But he was alive and he could breathe. If he’d punctured a lung he’d likely have died already.

  How long was I out? he wondered.

  His eyes opened not to a world of gray mist but to a cell of gray walls. Danny Kelso sat there, robot face serene. Much of the char had been washed from his carapace but it pleased Khan to see the delicate mechanisms jutting from the stump where his left hand had been.

  There were two other robots in the room—one with devil horns and the other with an infinity symbol on his forehead—and Khan knew them both. Kate Wade and her lieutenant…what was his name? Trang. Along with them were two U.S. soldiers obviously posted as guards and an officer with captain’s bars on his uniform.

  “Nah, look at him,” Wade said. “He’s awake.”

  They all turned to stare at him. Khan just returned the glare. So they had him? What would it earn them? Nothing. He could not turn the power back on. Anything he told them would not aid them in their efforts to survive the chaos that must already be spreading. The only things left in this world that Khan could do were to kill his enemies or be killed by them.

  He wondered how many of his own people had survived. And how long it would be before they launched another attack. If Drazen had survived, it would be soon. The mercenaries might abandon the fight, but the rest of the Bot Killers each had their own reasons for wanting to kill Tin Men.

  Kelso and Wade had made him their prisoner, but all they had really managed to do was to bring Death under their own roof.

  Hanif Khan smiled through his pain.

  Aimee stood in the Command Core, back against the computer array, and stared at the officers gathered around the circular conference table. Out beyond the windows, the control room remained a beehive of activity, as techs attempted to get some of the external sensors functioning without actually going outside. They had succeeded in getting signals from some of the topside cameras because they worked like telescopes, with all of the electrical parts underground and shielded, but even those were frozen in place, giving only a sliver image of the outside world.

  Important work, she knew. But any answers they might hope for would be coming out of the Command Core.

  With Major Zander, Chief Schuler and the others all staring at her, her memory flashed back to the fourth grade, when Joey Hoffman had wet his pants during the spelling bee.

  Great, she thought. Now I have to pee.

  “All right, Warrant Officer Bell,” Chief Schuler said. “Tell them what you’ve got.”

  “We’ve pinpointed a massive energy fluctuation just before the EMP…”

  Major Zander shot Schuler a dubious glance, as if to say, this is the smartest tech you’ve got?

  “Of course, that’s to be expected,” Aimee hurried on. “But we’re not just talking about a surge. Prior to the Pulse, our instruments recorded a significant weakening in certain satellite signals—call it a drag—for a duration of three-point-seven seconds leading up to the surge.”

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She wetted her lips and shifted her weight, trying to remain at perfect attention. Aimee had grown up with a theater geek brother but had never been able to get over her own stage fright.

  “You’re nervous, Warrant Officer Bell,” one of the other officers said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What do you have to be nervous about?”

  Aimee stared at the window opposite her position, not truly seeing anything.

  “I don’t like being the center of attention, ma’am. I don’t even sing in the shower.”

  Captain Cameron leaned back in her chair, one finger tapping anxiously at the edge of the table. “So this drag, as you call it…How is that anything? All comms signals experience high-traffic slowdowns. And not just comms. Video freezes all the time, same way it did when I was in high school.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Aimee gave Cameron a nod. “We took that into consideration. This far exceeded any typical lag. The only way I can read it is as a drain on the satellites themselves—and the surge we recorded originated with those same nineteen satellites.”

  The only change in Major Zander’s expression was a slight narrowing of his eyes. Their gray hue seemed to turn darker.

  “You think the EMP came from those satellites,” the major said.

  “Yes, sir. That is, I know it did.”

  Captain Cameron ceased drumming her fingers on the table. One of the other officers swore. Kenny Wheeler and the rest of the soldiers and techs in the room just stared at her.

  Chief Schuler massaged the bridge of his nose, maybe fighting a headache. Worst headache of his life, Aimee thought. Never going away.

  “What can you tell us about them, Warrant Officer Bell?” the major asked, and she felt pretty sure there was a bit of a good job, kid in there. Which she needed. She wanted to cry or beat the hell out of someone or both, just to settle her nerves.

  “All nineteen satellites were built within the past eight years,” she said. “All nineteen were constructed and launched by the Monteforte Corporation.”

  Captain Cameron scoffed.

  Major Zander shot her an appraising look. “Yes?”

  Cameron shook her head. “Sorry, Major. There’s no way the Monteforte people are behind this. They’re in business, and if this is as bad as we think it is, their business has been destroyed along with everything else.”

  Stung, Aimee lifted her chin, trying to maintain some dignity without looking too pissed off. “Ma’am, the data doesn’t lie.”

  “You’re saying—“ Captain Cameron began.

  “She’s not saying the corporation, Captain,” Major Zander interrupted. “The Board of Directors doesn’t build those satellites. Hundreds of people are part of the process of manufacturing those satellites and putting them in orbit and they all have access.”

  “So now we know,” said the lieutenant beside Cameron, a lanky black man with high cheekbones and a shaved head. “How does that help us?”

  Major Zander stared at the smooth surface of the table. “It doesn’t.”

  Cameron flinched. “You’re saying we just sit here?”

  “You want to try your luck outside?” the major said quietly. “As soon as people realize the machines aren’t coming back online any time soon…”

  Major Zander didn’t finish the statement. They could all imagine the fallout.

  “Anything else, Bell?” Chief Schuler asked, almost hopeful. She could read his eyes. Tell us there’s a way to reboot. Give us some hope.

  “No, sir.”

  ~10~

  The officer in charge of the U.S. Marine Corps detachment stationed at the embassy in Damascus was a square-jawed captain named Bartleby Finch. He’d started to go gray as a young man and now the contract with his dark skin made him appear much older than he actually was. The illusion of age went well with his general demeanor, which was so cantankerous on the best of days that it seemed only slightly crankier on this, the very worst of days.

  “Where do
we stand?” Finch asked in his Texas drawl.

  Danny looked at him, wondering how the guy stayed so calm. He told himself it was all a front, that inside Finch was running around in circles screaming, just like the rest of them.

  He flexed the fingers of his new hand, trying it out. Birnbaum had taken it off of the robot that North usually piloted, which stood in a corner inside the muster room by the barracks. Of the two techs, Birnbaum seemed the more skilled, and Danny had watched in fascination as she had taken out her tool kit and grafted the hand on for him. It seemed somehow ghoulish.

  “We’ve doubled the sentries on the wall and supplemented them with some of the Tin Men,” said Finch’s second, Lieutenant Winslow. “Though after the job the RIC did in dispersing them, further attack seems unlikely.”

  “Unless the populace riots,” Captain Finch said thoughtfully.

  No one had a response for that. They had gathered in Finch’s office—Trang, Kate, Finch, Winslow, and Danny, whom Kate had dragged along with Trang’s grudging assent. They all stood except for Finch himself.

  “Casualties?” Finch asked.

  “Three of ours,” Winslow replied. “Seven embassy staff.”

  “Five of mine,” Lieutenant Trang said.

  “Six,” Kate corrected. “They found Jablonsky’s head.”

  Trang gave a curt nod. “Six. With the losses we’d already incurred, the platoon is down to twenty-two, myself included.”

  Finch just took it all in. “The ambassador?”

  “Wounded,” Winslow said. “He’ll be all right. Just a little glass shrapnel from a Molotov. Stitches in his face and arm, some aspirin. He’d have come himself but he wasn’t ready to leave his daughter’s side.”

  For a moment, the curtain over Finch’s eyes rose to reveal an ocean of sadness, but the emotion vanished so quickly that Danny wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “I’d forgotten the girl was here,” Finch said. “She’s injured?”

  “Just shaken,” Winslow replied.

  Finch nodded, stroking his chin. “Recommendations?”

  “We wait,” Trang said. “Whatever this is, it can’t last forever. We have our people protected, food enough to sustain them. The army will find a way to reestablish communications. Until then, we wait for orders.”

  Danny shot a look at the back of Trang’s head, then glanced at Kate. The guy had been shaken up, but Danny thought he had gotten his shit together. Apparently not.

  Finch seemed unsure. “And if no one comes?”

  “Someone will come,” Trang announced.

  Finch did not seem convinced. It eased Danny’s mind to know that at least one of the officers had not lost his mind.

  “The prisoners?” Finch asked.

  “We got what we could from the German before he died,” Winslow replied. He nodded at Trang. “The lieutenant recommended one of his men, Private Hawkins, to assist in the questioning and Hawkins turned out to be very persuasive. The intel from this anarchist, Ingo, will prove invaluable—“

  “But he’s dead, isn’t he?” Finch asked.

  Danny blinked. “Wait, what? His injuries weren’t that severe.”

  They all stared at him and he realized he had spoken out of turn.

  “They were worse than they looked,” Lieutenant Winslow replied. “And Private Hawkins didn’t hesitate to take advantage of that. The prisoner expired. But now we know their numbers and we know their location. We know they have at least two vehicles—“

  “Working vehicles?” Finch asked.

  “Yes, sir. This has been in the planning stages a long time. None of these Bot Killers are local and all of them intend to return to their own homes if they survive the chaos. They have Humvee-TSVs whose engines and starters were removed and encased in heavy shielding. By now they’ll have reinstalled those parts.”

  Danny thought about that. The Bot Killers had Humvee Troop Support Vehicles. He wondered what else they had shielded from the Pulse.

  “Will they bug out, or come for their leader?” Trang asked.

  “The million dollar question,” Winslow replied.

  “How do we know the other prisoner is their leader?” Finch asked.

  “By the smile on his face,” Kate muttered.

  “Sergeant?” Finch asked.

  “Sorry, sir. His cockiness is…unsettling,” Kate explained. “Whoever he is, I get the feeling he knows a lot more about all this than we do. He’s not just some Bot Killer.”

  “All right, then,” Finch said, eyes narrowing. “Good information. Now that you’ve got it, let’s use it against him. Sergeant Wade, you take lead on the interrogation. Without Hawkins. If this man is the leader, I don’t want him expiring as well. But by all means you should feel free to break him.”

  Danny smiled. The son of a bitch had targeted him and Kate and they still didn’t know why. The idea of breaking the man appealed to him very much.

  Aimee’s security pass unlocked the door to Twelve, where she found a pair of support specialists babysitting the bodies of Platoon A. The canisters gave off a rhythmic beep and status lights flickered on their control panels. Other than that, the room had a heavy silence that made her want to hold her breath as she began to weave amongst the canisters.

  Someone else was in the room, had dragged a chair from somewhere and planted himself down among the Remote Combat Units. North glanced up at her approach and exhaled, shaking his head.

  “Don’t try to tell me I’ve gotta move,” he said.

  “You’re good where you are.”

  “Damn right,” he said.

  Aimee went from unit to unit, checking vitals. A couple soldiers inside the canisters looked pale to her; their vitals were low, but within normal parameters. She stole glances at North, the guilt etched into his features making her feel as if she ought to say something. Then again, she didn’t want to alleviate that guilt; North had let down his platoon.

  “You going to tell me?” North asked.

  Aimee froze, one hand on the smooth lid of Sergeant Morello’s canister. She glanced back at him.

  “Tell you what?”

  North snorted, as if he might still be drunk and spoiling for a fight. She knew he was sober, but the latter part…she wasn’t sure.

  “Why aren’t they awake? If an EMP fried everything—“

  “Nineteen EMPs,” she corrected.

  His eyes flared. “Jesus,” he said, massaging his temples. “Okay, nineteen EMPs. If comms are down and everything’s fried, they should be regaining consciousness. But the Staging Area’s got a skeleton crew and everyone else is in the control room trying to get something back online.”

  She had to look away from the accusation in his eyes.

  “The only thing I can think of—and this doesn’t make any sense at all, Aimee—is that nobody’s in here trying to wake them up because every one of you knows that they’re not going to wake up. I mean, otherwise this place would be flooded with techs and med staff, right?”

  North got up from his chair, its legs scraping the floor, and approached her. He stood eighteen inches away, close enough to breathe the same air. A small scar ran from just beneath his left nostril to his lip, thin and white, a souvenir from childhood. Once she’d thought it sexy. His eyes were a bright blue, lacking the fear she’d seen in Kenny Wheeler’s gaze. North didn’t look afraid; he looked angry, a little bit crazy.

  “Tell me what everyone else here already seems to know,” he demanded.

  “God, I hate this,” she sighed, reaching up to tuck a lock of her short hair behind her ear.

  “What do you hate?”

  Aimee only hesitated for a moment. She had always hated the secrecy of her job and now secrets seemed meaningless. What difference would it make if she told the truth?

  “If things ever go back to normal, you’ve got to swear—“

  North slammed a palm down on top of Morello’s canister. “Damn it!”

  The two support specialists glanced worriedly
at them. Aimee held up a hand to let them know she had things under control, though she was far from certain of that.

  “Maybe you want to sit back down,” she suggested.

  To her surprise, North did. He sat waiting for her to speak like some errant schoolboy wondering how many detentions he would receive. He had always seemed arrogant and irritable to her—which had been sexy before it became infuriating—but for the first time she found herself thinking of him as sad.

  This was his platoon. Someone owed this man the truth.

  “The Tin Men have never been virtual reality soldiers,” she said. “They aren’t really Remote Infantry at all.”

  North scowled. “What are you—“

  “It’s called ‘mindcasting.’ Transmitting consciousness like electrical signals from a human brain to a synthetic one. The robots have biological ganglia that map one-to-one with human brains. Actually, every bot has three brains, each with individualized software that imprints with and then mimics the neural pathways of its…”

  His stare stopped her. The panic in his eyes made her think he might scream.

  “Don’t fuck with me,” he said, his voice cold but more than a little on the verge.

  Aimee’s throat went dry. “Tom, I’m not. I swear. This is all classified. Need to know. They never thought you needed to know—“

  “Needed to know? They’ve been…” He glanced at the canisters all around them and began to shake his head. “No.”

  “They’re not dead,” she assured him. “They’re not waking up because they’re not in their bodies at all. For all intents and purposes, right now they are the robots. With the shielding on the Tin Men and the atomic power source in every bot, they’re still operational.”

  North spun around, growing more frantic. He went to Kate Wade’s canister and looked down through the small viewing window at her face, most of it covered by the headgear all of the soldiers wore inside the Remote Combat Units.

  “What if they’re attacked?” he asked. He ran his hands through his hair. “Christ, what if the robots are destroyed? What happens to their minds?”

  Aimee took a deep breath. She lifted her hand to push her hair back again and saw that her fingers were trembling.