Bot Wars, Line Zero

by J. V. Kade

  “My dad lives here?”

  “He owns the entire building.”

  I look up. The building is three stories of super-strong green brick that people use in natural disaster zones, like for earthquakes and hurricanes and stuff. It’s supposed to withstand just about anything short of an X-bomb. It’s also not cheap. Or at least that’s what I heard Lox’s dad say once when he was talking about their “standard stick built” house. Whatever that means.

  I think of our old ratty house in Brack with the clumpy grass and notched security system and the fridge that clunks around when the motor starts up. How come Dad never came for us? How come he made us sit and wait in the UD while he bought a building in Bot Territory?

  Calm down, the tiny voice in my head says. There must be a good explanation.

  I try to push through the doors, but they rattle against a lock.

  “Here, allow me.” LT steps forward and presses his finger to a port installed in the door. The lock clicks open.

  “If you don’t have fingerprints, how did that work?”

  LT holds up his finger and the metal tip slides away, revealing a silicone finger beneath. “I have a print. Or at least one that’s unique to me. Bots are programmed into the Central Automaton Database Center in Old New York so we can get through certain security ports.”

  “Oh.” Old New York must be like Bot Territory’s capital. The last news feed I watched at home, about the nanny bot that was apprehended, made Old New York sound like a place only for assembling bots. Apparently it’s more than that.

  We enter into the lobby. Wood floors creak beneath my feet. A vid panel on the wall to my right plays the UD news feed. Big cushy chairs sit empty across from a U-shaped couch.

  LT leads me to an elevator hidden in an alcove in the back. When I step inside and the doors shut, my reflection stares at me in the polished steel. LT picks the third floor. The car lurches upward and my knees sink to my toes.

  I think it takes all of two seconds to reach the top floor, but in those two seconds, I start buzzing with anticipation. I’m like a firecracker ready to blow. Like a piston ready to pop. Like a . . . like a . . .

  The doors rush open and my eyes widen as I try to take in every detail.

  Sunlight shines through the leaded glass ceiling. People and bots buzz around the wide-open room. A gigantic screen on the far wall flashes information about Bot Territory, suspected UD government movements, and weather forecasts. A thin woman with a high ponytail mans a computer in the center of the room.

  I scan the faces, searching for Dad. Has he changed so much in two years that I don’t even recognize him? Did his hair turn gray? Did he grow a mustache?

  People start to notice me standing there. The room goes quiet. A door I didn’t notice before squeaks open and a man steps out, his boots thumping on the floor. There’s a loft area built above where the man stands, so his face is hidden in shadow.

  “Trout?” he says. “Is that you?”

  I suck in a breath. My eyes burn with the good kind of tears and I race across the room.

  Dad. It’s Dad. It’s really him.

  I am beneath the loft area before I see him. Before I can really see him. And when I do, it pulls me to a stop. The goofy, happy smile plastered on my face disappears. Something is wrong.

  Dad shifts and the sunlight hits his arm and glares back, making me squint. Metal. Dad’s arm is made of metal. He takes a step toward me. My heart bats at my brain and I scan the rest of him.

  A bolt juts out from his neck. A metal plate makes up half his face and something green glows from beneath his shirt, from the place where his heart should be.

  I can’t feel my hands or my feet and it’s like I’ve stopped breathing altogether. Like I’ve officially gone off the edge of the universe. Because this can’t be right.

  This isn’t my dad.

  “Trout,” he says. Even his voice sounds different now that I listen. It’s raspier and it needles at the back of my neck. “Aidan,” he tries again, using my real name this time, which means he’s being serious.

  I take a step back. Then another.

  “Wait.”

  This is not my dad. This is not the guy I crossed into Bot Territory to see. My dad is not a robot!

  I stumble over my own feet and slam into the back of the elevator. I jam a finger into the buttons. The bad kind of tears sting my eyes.

  “Aidan!” Dad calls.

  “You’re not my dad!” I shout as the doors whoosh closed.

  TWENTY

  I RUN. I don’t know where I’m going. I just want as much space between Dad and me as I can get.

  I grit my teeth. I’m ten nanometers away from gearing out. I want Po more than I’ve ever wanted him. He’d understand. He’d know what to do. But Po is all the way in Brack being held captive by the UD all because of me. Because of that stupid vid, because I wanted my dad back, and now look.

  A traffic light switches to red and I come to a stop at the corner. My chest heaves, I’m breathing so hard. I swipe away the sweat that rolls down my forehead. As I wait for the light to change, for the hovercars to whir past, I notice a park across the street. A big one like Ryder Park back home.

  I go there and plop down on a bench between two willow trees. There are kids playing at the top of the hill and a group of women jogging around the paved paths, but for the most part, I’m alone.

  I curl my knees up, wrapping my arms around them and burying my head so no one will see me cry. I never knew a heart could hurt like this, like it’s been ground into dust.

  Did Po know about Dad? Why didn’t he warn me?

  My dad is a robot. MY DAD IS A ROBOT.

  As I sit there trying to sniff back the snot running outta my nose, footsteps fall behind me.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  I look up at Dad, squinting against the sunlight that’s shining through the droopy willow branches. I nod my head and he sits on my left side, keeping the part of him that’s bot away from me. I’m glad for that, even if it makes me feel like a crummy person.

  The wood bench creaks as Dad settles in. I hold my knees up tight. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. I’m like a ball of space junk floating through the ether.

  We sit in silence for what seems like forever. I keep my eyes trained straight ahead watching the group of kids playing at the top of the hill.

  Finally, Dad takes a deep breath. “I was injured pretty badly in the war,” he says, and leans back, draping an arm over the bench. “I thought for sure I was dead. LT and another bot, Ratch, they found me and dragged me to safety. Scissor fixed me up, but . . .” Dad raps his knuckles against the metal plate on the side of his face. Ting. Ting. Ting. “Obviously I’m not quite what I used to be.”

  I let go of my knees and my feet drop to the ground. I sniff. Wipe my eyes. Sniff again. Thing is, sitting here next to Dad—it’s the only thing I’ve wanted for forever. And when I don’t think about the parts of him that are metal, he sounds just like the Dad who left me and Po two years ago.

  The very same person I’ve been fighting for and worrying and wondering about every night since.

  And if LT hadn’t found him . . .

  My chest squeezes real tight as I lean over and collapse against Dad. I can’t help it, I start crying again. Shoulder-shaking, lip-quivering baby sobs.

  Dad is alive. And he’s sitting right next to me, and that’s all that should matter. He’s still my dad. Just . . . with a robotic arm. And a half-machine face. And his heart . . .

  “If you don’t have a human heart, are you still the same? I mean, can you . . .” I trail off, because I’m afraid to ask what I want to ask.

  “Can I still love you guys?” Dad says.

  “Well, yeah, I guess.”

  “O
f course I can.” Dad pats my back with his real arm. “Nothing has changed. None of the things that matter, anyway.”

  I wipe my face with the sleeve of my shirt and look over at Dad. His eyes are still the same shade of brown, just like mine, like river mud. There’s the scar above his right eyebrow where a framed family photo fell on his head when he was cleaning out a closet.

  He smiles at me, and while the side of his mouth that’s on the side with the metal plate doesn’t move the same, it’s still Dad’s easy grin.

  “If you cross a man with a bot, what do you get?” he asks.

  This is the game we used to play. We would try to come up with the best, most wrenched, most hilarious hy-breed. I hold the winning title so far with koala parrot. Everything is better in rainbow colors. I bet Dekker would say so too.

  “A man-bot?” I guess.

  “No, silly. A ro-man.”

  Dad and I laugh. It’s like we’re back in Brack at the kitchen table drawing pretend hy-breeds on an old tabpad. I wish we really were back there, before the war, before everything got so jammed.

  “You grew up on me, ya know?” Dad says.

  I snort. “Po says I’m still a little squirt.”

  “That’s because he’s afraid you’ll end up bigger than him.”

  I can’t help but smile at that one. “Paybacks.”

  “Exactly.”

  The kids on the hill drop onto their backs and roll down to the bottom. It’s been a while since I hung out with Lox and did stupid stuff like that. Will I ever get to hang out with him now that I’m considered a criminal?

  “Come on.” Dad squeezes my shoulder. “I bet you’re starving, and I have one of the best cooks in the city. We can finish talking over food.”

  I rise to my feet and Dad stands next to me. For being made partly of metal, he moves quickly, just like LT. I wonder what other pieces of him had to be replaced with machinery. I wonder if he runs faster now.

  “I’m glad you’re here, son,” he says as we head toward his building. “I’ve missed you. More than you’ll ever know.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulders and it feels just like it used to.

  • • •

  On the walk back, I find out that everyone calls Dad’s building the Fort and that he spent over a year fixing it up. It was falling apart on the inside ever since the Bot Wars started, and its owner—a banker—abandoned it when the UD recommended people flee to the safer districts in the north.

  “And every time I completed a project,” Dad says as we cross the lobby, “I thought about what you and your brother would want in the place if you were finally able to escape the UD safely.”

  “I’d want a pool,” I say. “Is there one?”

  Dad blows out a puff of air. “I knew I forgot something.” The elevator opens on the second floor. “But I promise, this floor might make up for it.”

  “What’s on this floor?”

  “Living quarters. Kitchen. And a media room, courtesy of Scissor.”

  My eyes light up. That’s wrenched.

  We exit the elevator and step into an open kitchen. Sunshine pours through a wall of windows and makes the glossy white floor shine. Another loft area stretches over the mile-long dining table. Bookshelves line the wall up there. A couple of kids toss foam balls over the railing and “bomb” the enemy. The enemy is made up of various adults, bots, and a few people Po’s age. A short man sets the table while an equally short bot preps the food. It’s like a bustling city in here too. Instantly I like it. I’m used to being home by myself with nothing more than the sound of the TV to keep me company.

  Dad introduces me to Merril, the bot who is the Fort’s head cook. He’s a big robot, as tall as Dad, with shoulders as wide as an eagle’s wingspan. His voice is deep, and dark, like molasses, and he has a laugh that starts way down in his belly. When he sees me, he wipes his hands on a yellow apron and leaves behind a streak of flour.

  “Well now.” He shakes his head. “You look just like Mr. St. Kroix. Right down to the distance between your eyes and the pinched bridge of your nose.” He squints at me, then: “Ahh ya, and the left ear is lower than the right. Just like your pops.”

  Automatically, I tug at my ears and look at Dad. “What the chop? How come no one told me my ears were different?”

  “Probably only a millimeter off,” Dad says. “Not noticeable. Trust me.”

  I’m trying to catch my reflection in the window to check my ears when Dad pulls me away. He introduces me to everyone. I meet a string of people, men and woman who Dad says are “part of the security tech.” They don’t say much. Mostly Nice to meet you. And Hi.

  It’s the bots that seem the most friendly, but every time I shake their hands, I’m reminded that Dad has an arm just like that. So when the food finally comes, I’m more than happy to plop down at the table and dig in.

  Merril made biscuits, fried up some bacon, toasted a whole loaf of bread, and scrambled a big pan of eggs. I’d been up for so long, traveling so far, that I’d forgotten it was only breakfast time. I’m so hungry, though, I’d eat just about anything.

  The kid who sits next to me—Jared or Dave or something—informs me that Merril’s the best cook around and that “he takes cooking more seriously than programming.”

  Dad cracks open a canned drink and starts chugging. I realize he doesn’t have a plate in front of him. “You’re not eating?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t. My stomach was damaged when I was wounded.”

  I stop chewing. “And?”

  “And now I don’t have one.”

  My eyes widen. “Really? So like, you can’t eat? At all?”

  Dad holds up his drink. The can says LIFE WATER on the side in big, spindly letters. #1 DRINK AMONGST ROBOTS. “This is it. And I take supplemental shots, so I get the necessary nutrients and calories for the parts of me that are human.”

  “Wow. That’s notched.”

  Dad raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you kids are saying nowadays? Notched?”

  “Dad,” I moan, which makes him chuckle real hard.

  When breakfast is done, I’m so stuffed, I can barely move. Merril and a few other people clean up the table. Everyone else disappears from the room.

  “So,” Dad starts, “we have a lot more to talk about. Where should I begin?”

  I try to think of the biggest, most important question I’ve been harboring, but they all seem big and important. “Did you know about any of this when you signed up for the war?”

  A pot bangs against the counter in the kitchen. Merril inspects the new dent and tsks. Dad leans back in his chair across from me.

  “I knew a little about what was going on.” He takes a breath. “Remember when your brother came home from the war? How badly his leg was injured?” I nod. “We told you it was the Deeta disease because I didn’t want to worry you. But that wasn’t what happened.”

  I frown. “What happened, then?”

  “Po was on a routine border check with his unit when they came across a dismantled bot on the side of the road. Po pulled over when the bot tried waving them down. At first he meant to smash it, and fry out its operating system only because it didn’t have legs or much of a torso anyway. There was nothing left.”

  I sit forward. I had no idea about any of this and I’m feeling guilty for ever thinking Po’s real story—that he was injured in the Bot Wars—was a jacked-up lie just to impress girls.

  “But when your brother got out there, the bot told him there were humans and bots in the woods who needed his help. The bot said people were being injured by army officials, not just men, but women and children too.”

  Dad folds his hands in front of him. “When Po and his unit entered the woods, what they found was a base camp with people and bots held prisoner in li
ttle more than cages. And when Po tried to let the women and children go, the officials running the camp fought back.”

  Dad looks right at me when he says, “Your brother got caught in a force field blast. And that’s how he lost his leg.”

  “What?” I breathe; even though I heard every word he said, I’m still not sure I heard him right. “A bomb? His leg got . . .” My stomach flip-flops as I think about what Po must have gone through. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shake off the image.

  He must have geared out when he realized his leg was totally gone.

  I reach for my glass of water, my mouth suddenly dry. I guzzle the rest and the water swims in my stomach.

  Dad goes on. “Po faked amnesia and was honorably discharged. When he told me what happened . . .” Dad runs his hand through his overgrown hair. Flecks of silver strands stand out amongst the darker ones. “I knew I had to do something. So I volunteered. Gut instinct told me there was something bigger going on.”

  When I look around the kitchen and dining room, I realize we’re alone. Merril is gone. Still, I lean closer and whisper just to be sure. “Was it the Meta-Rise?”

  An AC vent clicks to life. Cold air rushes into the room. Gooseflesh runs down my arms. Dad leans back so his chair tips on two legs. He used to yell at Po and me for that. You’ll fall over and break the chair, he used to say. And your head.

  “Where did you hear about the Meta-Rise?” he asks.

  I open my mouth to tell him what Dekker told me, but decide to keep that a secret. I don’t want Dekker getting in trouble. Instead, I shrug all nonchalant, and say, “I just heard some people talking about it.”

  Dad frowns, like he’s onto me, but he doesn’t push. “The Meta-Rise is near and dear to me. It’s more than just a group of bot supporters. It’s people and bots fighting for the truth. Fighting for opportunity and freedom and above all else, fairness. The UD is light on all fronts. They banned robots because they were scared, but what’s next? What if they don’t stop with bots? They already control what goes on the Net through the UNDC. Their regulations are turning the country into a dictatorship. The Meta-Rise wants to change that.”