by Harrison, S.
Its huge, round . . . silvery-gray eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The giant robot bellows a single word that paralyzes my entire body.
“INFINITY!”
Colonel Brash halts his heated discussion with the Professor and throws a sideways glance over his shoulder. “Go on back to the box, son. We’ll unhook you in a minute.”
The mechanoid leans in closer, scanning the blast shield, searching for faces around the edges of the yellow paint splatter like a cat stalking goldfish in a bowl.
“WHERE ARE YOU, CHILD? I KNOW YOU’RE ALIVE. I CAN FEEL IT.”
The Colonel’s ears visibly twitch and his spine suddenly straightens. He slowly turns toward the voice as the robot’s huge gray eyes rove into view, leering down on him between two spikes of yellow. Concern creases his brow. He knows that something isn’t right. The R.A.M. reaches down and wipes at the big fluorescent splat with its massive green hand, but it’s only making the mess worse, smearing the paint into opaque streaks with loud screeching swipes.
“SHOW YOURSELF, INFINITY,” the R.A.M. demands, its deep modulated voice echoing menacingly from the display.
Colonel Brash quickly looks over at Dean, and his expression immediately flashes from serious concern to surprised shock. Dean is slumped even lower now; his head flopped forward, blood steadily dripping from the tip of his nose into a widening patch of red on his white school shirt. The Colonel lunges at Dean, grabs him by the shoulders, and shakes him vigorously. “Son, wake up! Boy! Can you hear me? Wake up!”
Colonel Brash stomps forcefully on the edge of the platform and the metal chair collapses down into the base. He catches Dean, lays him on the dirt, flicks the visor up, and tugs the metal band from his forehead. Dean’s eyes are half-open, unresponsive, staring blankly into space as saliva dribbles from the corner of his loosely gaping mouth.
“Computer! Medical emergency protocol epsilon!”
The Colonel glances quickly from side to side, most likely expecting a hospital bed to rise from the ground nearby, but nothing happens. He pulls his sleeve back and shouts into his wristband.
“Computer! Respond! Medical emergency protocol epsilon!”
Nothing happens.
“What’s going on?” Professor Francis asks sternly at the Colonel’s back. “What’s wrong with Mr. McCarthy? Is that . . . blood?”
“The boy is unconscious, and I have no idea why,” Colonel Brash says gravely.
For a brief moment the Professor looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him, but his frown vanishes as quickly as it came when a sudden realization strikes him. He points up at the towering silhouette moving on the wall of the shield. “But if Mr. McCarthy is unconscious . . . who on earth is controlling tha—”
“THERE’S NO USE IN HIDING, INFINITY. COME OUT NOW, OR THESE PEOPLE WILL BE HURT.”
The R.A.M. raises its right arm and brings its fist down hard on the shield. A ringing peal issues loudly from the display, echoing around the room like a church bell. The shield stays intact but everyone inside screams and shrieks, scattering across the grandstand in every direction. Miss Cole hastily scrambles around the back of it, sheltering beneath its supports, and is very quickly joined by the huddled bunch of the rest of the group.
“COME OUT, INFINITY, OR I WILL COME IN.”
“Do something!” Professor Francis yells over his shoulder as he trots around the back of the stand to join Miss Cole and the others. There’s no mistaking the fear on their faces as they peer out from the gaps between the seats.
“It’s out of control!” Brent blurts from the other side of the room.
“What’s an Infinity?” asks Brody.
Bit grabs my arm and her nails dig in hard. She looks at me with fear in her eyes. “It knows you,” she whispers.
I nod solemnly.
“What’s going on, Finn?”
“The same thing that happened on the pirate ship.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t faint. Someone was controlling the pirate captain. They tried to kill me.”
“And now the same person is controlling the R.A.M.?”
“Yes.”
“Are you absolutely sure? Who on earth would be trying to kill you? And how are they controlling constructs and equipment?”
“I promise I’ll tell you everything, but right now I need to get down there before someone gets killed because of me.”
“How?”
“I have no idea.”
“Hello!” shouts the Colonel’s voice.
Bit and I turn back to the display to see Colonel Brash standing with his hands on his hips at the wall of the dome. The massive robot takes two pounding stomps to the side and focuses on the Colonel’s face through a small clean section of the blast shield. The Colonel holds up the little black box.
“I can shut that mechanoid down with the press of a button. But before I do, perhaps you’d like to tell me who you are, and how you hacked into the most secure computer system on the planet?”
I have to admit: whether he knows it or not, the Colonel is a brave man.
“SIMON BRASH,” booms the mechanoid. “IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME.”
It’s plain to see that the Colonel is completely taken aback. “How do you know my name? Who are you?!”
“YOU WERE LIEUTENANT BRASH WHEN WE FIRST MET, BUT LOOK AT YOU NOW, SIMON. JUDGING BY THOSE STARS ON YOUR COLLAR, YOU’VE SOMEHOW MANAGED TO STUMBLE AND SNIVEL YOUR WAY UP THE RANKS, ALL THE WAY TO COLONEL. WELL DONE.”
Colonel Brash slowly lowers the box and looks up at the giant robot quizzically. “Seriously. Who the hell are you?”
“I AM DR. THERESA PIERCE. DO YOU REMEMBER ME, SIMON? WHAT A SILLY QUESTION. OF COURSE YOU DO.”
“Don’t mess around with me, scumbag. You can’t be Dr. Pierce. Theresa Pierce is dead.” Colonel Brash’s eyes narrow. He puffs out his chest and points his finger up at the robot. “Who are you, really? If you have somehow accessed Dr. Pierce’s old authority codes and are using her name to—”
“I ASSURE YOU THAT I AM THERESA PIERCE . . .” the R.A.M. interrupts. “. . . AND YOU’RE RIGHT, SIMON, I AM DEAD. I WAS BETRAYED. CAST ASIDE AND LEFT TO DIE AMONG THE ROSE THORNS LIKE A DOG. BUT I FOUND A WAY BACK, SIMON, AND IT’S TIME TO CORRECT A HORRIBLE MISTAKE.”
“I don’t have time for these lies, whoever you are! Our boys will trace your signal and you’ll be doing twenty years in a military prison before the week is out.”
“OH, SIMON, YOU FOOLISH BOY. YOU WERE ALWAYS SO FULL OF HOT AIR AND NONSENSE. PERHAPS THAT IS WHY IT GIVES ME SO MUCH PLEASURE TO INFORM YOU THAT THE END OF YOUR LIFE WILL BE CONSIDERABLY MORE PERMANENT THAN MINE WAS.”
The R.A.M. raises one of its huge arms and that horrible, ramping-up squeal erupts from the display once more as two sets of rail guns snap up into position.
“No!” I scream, gripping Bit’s arm, watching in horror as our classmates and teachers howl and cower in panic.
Colonel Brash’s eyes go wide. He quickly presses his thumb to the little black box and yells into it, “Emergency shutdown!”
The silver-gray circles on the R.A.M.’s face instantly blink out and the squeal begins winding down, becoming quieter and quieter until the huge robotic death machine is standing there in blissful silence, as still as a statue, its long green arm jutting down toward the Colonel’s chest like a sinister salute.
“Oh my gawd!” shouts Margaux. “That man could have been killed!”
The boys are still standing on either side of the black-and-yellow line, frozen in their respective spots, mesmerized, all three staring at the screen on the other side of the room. Bit utters a sigh of relief, her huge doe eyes glaring at me from behind her glasses. “Finn, who is Theresa Pierce?” she whispers, “and why does she want to . . . to hurt you?”
“She used to
live with us. She died when I was fifteen, and I have no idea why she’s so hell-bent on getting me.”
“But if she’s dead, then how . . . ?”
“She downloaded her mind into the Blackstone mainframe.”
“No, she can’t have. That’s impossible.”
“No, Bit. It’s not.”
“Well, if that crazy woman’s consciousness is in the system, then everyone is in danger. We have to get out of here.”
I nod in complete agreement.
Up on the display, I watch as our teachers and classmates gingerly emerge from behind the grandstand. One of the soldiers is kneeling by Dean, wiping the blood from his face. He looks like he’s coming around. Colonel Brash is standing, fists clenched on his hips, glaring angrily at the tall, motionless shadow being cast by the giant robot on the wide smears of yellow.
“Theresa Pierce, my ass. What a crock. We’ll find you, mister computer hacker.” He turns to the idle soldier standing nearby. “You, put that toy back in its box.”
The soldier immediately begins carrying out the Colonel’s orders. With a firm stomp, the metal chair springs up from the platform. The soldier removes his helmet and dark glasses, shoves them under the chair, and takes a seat. He slides the metal headband on and flicks the visor down.
The Colonel looks as mad as hell. “Get to work on finding out how one of our rivals hacked into this R.A.M.’s systems. I want to know a.s.a.p.! Gaad damn dirty corporate espionage! That’s what it is!”
Colonel Brash quickly composes himself and turns to the group, who all understandably look more than a little shaken.
“I think it’s safe to say that in light of these circumstances, your tour will end early today, as in right this minute. Let me remind you that you’ve all willingly put your genetic signatures on confidentiality agreements, and everything you have seen here must and will remain in the strictest confidence. I hope that, apart from this minor glitch, you have enjoyed your visit. Please sit tight until the tech department gets us out of this blast shield, then Percy will guide you back to your school bus.”
“What about Mr. McCarthy?” Professor Francis says, gesturing at Dean, who is now sitting up on his elbows and blinking drowsily. He looks a little dazed, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
“He’ll be just fine, but I’m sure Nurse Talbot will be more than happy to check him over before you leave,” replies Colonel Brash.
It’s my turn to breathe a sigh of relief. Soon we’ll be leaving this hell on earth. Thanks to Jonah, I’m still not sure if I ever want to go home again, but at least we’re getting out of here. I sit back in my chair and watch the display, finally allowing myself to begin gathering my shattered nerves.
Out in Dome Two, the soldier in the chair turns to Colonel Brash. “Ah . . . excuse me, sir, we need your voice code to reactivate the R.A.M.”
Colonel Brash nods and holds the little black box to his lips.
Professor Francis is standing nearby, nervously wringing his hands. “Are you sure that’s wise, Colonel? Whoever hacked into that mechanical beast may still be in control of it.”
Colonel Brash snorts and smiles. “No offense, Professor, but I know what I’m doing. An emergency shutdown completely purges the data buffer and randomizes the neural-access pathways. It’s cut off from any outside systems. I assure you, it’s absolutely safe.”
“But Colonel—”
“Professor, the main computer is offline. Probably due to the same terrorist scum that hacked my robot. Now, the sooner I get that mechanoid up and running, the sooner we can use its internal com system to contact the tech department. They will reboot the main computer and we can all get out of here. Sound like a plan?”
Professor Francis gives the Colonel a resigned nod.
“Good. Now, if you would excuse me.” Colonel Brash clears his throat and speaks clearly into the box in the palm of his hand. “Authorize. Brash. Code one eight three zero, R-A-M twelve slash one, activate . . . engage.”
A squeal shrieks from the R.A.M. and explodes into a roar as the huge guns on its arm flare alive with blazing white flames. The entire blast shield shatters like a car windscreen, raining an avalanche of jagged, glittering pebbles down over everyone inside. They dive for cover in every direction as Colonel Brash’s body from the waist up is instantly wiped away into a thick red paste and spread over the dirt behind his disembodied legs like raspberry jelly swiped across a slice of whole wheat toast. The Colonel’s torso-less hips and legs flop to the ground, and Bit screams, echoing the terrified screeches of everyone in Dome Two.
The robot’s eyes blink on with that horrible silvery-gray color just like before. A color I will forever see, from this moment on, as the color of death.
The soldier at the R.A.M.’s feet shakes the pebbles of glass from his sleeves and quickly leaps into action, diving to the side into an agile forward roll. He springs up onto his boots and takes off in a sprint across the dirt arena. But there’s nowhere to go. I don’t even think he knows where he’s running. Panic can do that to a person. The giant mech does a half-turn, waves its arm in his direction, and fires a short crackling burst of rounds. The soldier’s helmet and head disappear in a red mist as his body stumbles forward and drops onto the dirt, tumbling along the ground in a tangled heap of loose dead limbs.
The droning mechanized hum of the robot can be heard sporadically in the brief pauses between the panicked screams of our teachers and classmates as they retreat to the grandstand, the only thing in the arena to hide behind. Professor Francis grabs Dean and drags him to his feet by the scruff of his school uniform, hauling him with all his might back toward the others.
The R.A.M. swivels around and its gaze drops down upon the soldier in the chair. He flicks the visor up and stares at the towering robot in mesmerized shock, the edges of his eyes quivering over the top of his camo face mask.
The giant robot lifts its bulbous green leg and brings its huge foot down on the soldier with a pounding slam, crushing him and the metal chair flat to the ground. All that can be seen is one of his boots, the bent-up corners of the platform, and blood squeezing from beneath the tread of the giant green foot, soaking into the surrounding sandy-colored dirt in a creeping blotch of dark red.
The R.A.M. looks up and points its arm at the grandstand. “COME OUT, INFINITY. I WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE BEFORE I CLEANSE THE EARTH OF YOU.”
Professor Francis’s voice shakily issues from behind the grandstand amid the fearful whimpers and muffled sobbing of our classmates. “There’s no one here by that name!”
My fingernails dig deep into my palms, every fiber in my body screaming out in anger at my absolute uselessness. I look from our screen to the one across the room and back again, pointlessly wishing that at least one of the displays might be showing something, anything, other than this. All six of us are standing now, our hands covering our mouths in a futile attempt to block out the horror unfolding right before our eyes.
“SEND INFINITY OUT OR EVERY ONE OF YOU WILL DIE,” demands the R.A.M.; its guttural mechanical voice is cold and emotionless.
“I swear there’s no one here by that name! Please, whoever you are . . . have mercy, these are innocent children!” begs Professor Francis.
“IF INFINITY IS PERMITTED TO EXIST ANY LONGER, YOU ARE ALL AS GOOD AS DEAD, ANYWAY.”
“What . . . what are you talking about?”
“I DON’T NEED TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU. YOUR TIME IS UP.”
The robot raises its arm . . . and opens fire.
The seats on one side of the grandstand are torn apart in a raging storm of bullets. Miss Cole, Ashley Farver, and Sherrie Polito are killed instantly, obliterated in a flurry of plastic shards, shredded clothing, and splatters of bloodied meat. Their bodies seem to explode with the force of the projectiles, scattering scraps of their flesh in all directions.
Through the gaps
of the splintering seats, I see Millie and Amy. They’re both aghast with anguish, their open-mouthed screams completely drowned out by the cacophony of the R.A.M.’s deafening gunfire as their pale, tortured faces are speckled red with the remains of the three young women who were standing right beside them.
Bit quickly turns away from the display, Margaux is screaming, Brent is sobbing, Brody and Ryan are frozen solid, and I drop to my knees as tears stream down my face, unable to take my eyes away from the brutal slaughter that is happening because of me.
The shooting suddenly ceases and the rest of the group bolts from behind the collapsing grandstand in a haphazard pack, wailing in absolute terror, hugging the curved wooden boundary as they go. Percy leads the way, desperately yelling into his control module. But there aren’t any doors opening in the dome, no walls forming to protect them, no soldiers storming in to their rescue. There is nowhere to run except around the edge of a wide, closed circle.
They’re all going to die out there.
Trailing at the back of the group are the two slowest, Professor Francis and Dean McCarthy. In class, Professor Francis would often brag about how he was a track and field champion when he was young. But he’s an old man now; those days are gone, and try as he might he’s just not fast enough. It doesn’t help that he’s desperately trying to assist Dean, whose shaky legs are half-dragging in the dirt behind him as he hobbles to keep up.
The R.A.M. levels its arm toward the struggling pair. The rail-guns flare with white flame again as Dean trips over his own feet, dragging the Professor down into the dirt as the projectiles spew forth, barely missing their heads but blazing right through Millie Grantham’s body instead, disintegrating her top half into liquid and splattering it across the thick wooden barrier like scarlet human paint. Millie’s tattered, headless, armless, school-uniformed carcass topples into the dirt as Margaux wails her name from the other side of the room.
My mind wants to reject this reality. This can’t be happening.
The R.A.M.’s head swivels quickly to the right, its attention suddenly piqued.
