Chapter Two
Major Beckman was a good teacher. I quickly got the hang of moving the steering bar backwards and forwards and right and left to move the helicopter in those directions, and to push on the foot pedals to turn it one way or the other. It was harder to get over the strangeness of having a guy who had been dead for a hundred years chattering away in my ear like a cheerful little chipmunk. It was even stranger to feel like I was back there with him.
The goggles really did their job. No matter which way I turned my head, no matter where I looked, the helicopter and its surroundings were real and solid and right in front of me, and like I said, somehow it even felt like a hot summer's day. I knew the illusion would be broken as soon as I tried to get out of the cockpit and walk around. I would trip over the gyroscope struts and bang my nose into the walls of the shed, so I didn't do that. I didn't want the illusion to be broken. I wanted it to go on forever.
And that feeling got even stronger when the Major finally had me stop doing low, level hovering and asked me to take the helicopter up into the sky.
Now, I knew what Arizona looked like from on high. I had strong memories of my former self standing on more than a few mountaintops and seeing the wastelands spread out like a soiled red carpet below him. I knew all about the craters and the poisoned lakes and the dry creek beds that cut like scars across a dead man's face. I remembered the ruined towns and the desolate farms, the black forests where nothing grew.
That was not the Arizona that Major Taft Beckman showed me. Sure there was still plenty of red desert, but there was more than that. Much more. There were blue lakes, and green forests, white and glittering little towns with shopping centers and colorful restaurants on the outskirts. There were parks and pools and plazas. There were baseball fields and farms and silos. There were stadiums and skyscrapers and sewage treatment plants. But the thing that really got me about it was how lively it all was.
Everywhere I looked, there were people. Splashing in the pools, walking in the parks, zooming up and down clean white highways in their cars, playing catch on the ball fields, and not one of them, not a single one, with any idea of what was coming for them - of what was waiting for them in their future.
I wanted to scream down at them from the helicopter, tell them to run, to hide, to stop their politicians before they called down the bombs. But what could I do? I was a ghost from the future. They wouldn't hear me. They wouldn't do anything even if they could. They were too innocent. They didn't know yet what man was truly capable of.
The flying lesson was long over by that time, but I couldn't stop zipping around, looking down at it all, soaking it all in, trying to imagine living in a world that didn't know anything about want or fear or sickness or killer fucking robots. I wanted it so bad.
A hand shook my shoulder. "Ghost. Hey, Ghost."
I swallowed and pulled off the headset and goggles. "H-huh?"
"They're calling us. We should— Are you crying?"
"No, I... It's the goggles. They make your eyes water." I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "Come on."
***
Ace and Angie were still huddled at the computer terminal when we got back to the office. The rest of the rangers were crowded behind them.
"Whatta you got?" I asked.
"One of those scary pre-apocalypse stories," said Angie.
"Huh?"
Ace looked up. "We think we found a way to wipe the Cochise AI off the map and shut down the killer robots all at once."
"How is that a scary story?" asked Athalia.
"It's all in the emails," said Angie. "Apparently one of the researchers at Base Cochise tried to blow the place up once."
Vargas chuckled. "And the disciplinary committee sent a lot of emails back and forth, which means we know how to blow it up now."
"How?" asked Athalia.
"What happened?" I asked.
"There was a guy who used to work here," said Angie. "Harrison Edsel. Little bit crazy. Some discipline problems here at Sleeper One - insubordination, general whining - before he got transferred to Base Cochise, but then he designed the Base Cochise AI, which was apparently the world's first true artificial intelligence, and everybody called him a genius."
"Another Finster then?" I asked.
"No, no. Different kind of crazy." Angie scrolled through the text on her screen. "Says here that Edsel was in charge of the team that was supposed to install the Cochise AI on a space-based weapons platform called the Citadel Star Station, but then he started to believe that the AI had become self-aware and he tried to get his bosses to kill the project and shut down the AI."
"And they didn't listen," said Athalia.
"Bingo," said Angie. "And that's when Edsel really went crazy."
"And where we found out how to kill the AI," said Vargas.
"So what is it?" I asked.
Angie smiled. "Turns out there's a self-destruct mechanism in Base Cochise, and Edsel wanted to use it to destroy the AI, but it required four people to turn four keys in a certain order within twenty seconds of each other. He got in trouble with the brass when he tried to convince three other members of his team to turn the other three keys. Two of them apparently were ready to go along with him, but the last one ratted him out and he got confined to quarters."
"Where he mysteriously asphyxiated," added Vargas.
"Suicide?" I asked.
"Nope," said Angie. "No noose, no strangulation, no rope. Just dead in his bed. They put it down to a freak malfunction in the ventilation system."
"Which was apparently controlled by the AI," said Vargas.
"Jesus."
"Yeah," said Angle. "That kinda made the "Evil AI" rumor spread and more of the research team started talking about shutting it down, which is when the bosses decided that for security reasons, the keys to the self-destruct system would be moved to the Citadel Launch Facility, which looks like it was the head office for the whole project."
"So," I said, putting it all together. "The keys to destroy the computer that's making all the killer robots are in this Citadel Launch Facility, wherever that is."
"Sounds like Guardian Citadel," said Hell Razor. "The clubhouse of the Guardians of the Old Order."
"You know this for sure?" asked Athalia.
"Pretty sure," said Hell Razor. "Tangled with the Guardians back in my raidin' days. Place used to have a big sign out front that said, 'Citadel Launch Facility.'"
Angie raised an eyebrow. "Used to?"
Hell Razor chuckled. "We stole it. Letters were made of copper. Melted 'em down for shell casings."
I sighed. "So, that's our next stop then? Another one of these damn underground rabbit warrens?"
"Looks like it," said Angie. "Though who knows if they'll still have the keys anymore."
"Oh, they'll have 'em," said Vargas. "The Guardians never throw anything away."
"Do we know what the keys look like?"
"Actually, we do," said Angie. "There's a picture of them in this email. Have a look."
We all squeezed in tighter to get a look at the monitor. It showed a slightly blurry picture of four notched metal tubes each about the size of the barrel of a pistol. They had LEDs along their sides, flanges at the back end, and conductor plates at the business end - the height of pre-apocalypse tech.
"Is it worth going after them?" asked Athalia. "If you know the Guardians never throw anything away, you also know they never give anything up. You're going to go there and they're just going to stonewall you, maybe even fight you. Maybe we should just head straight for Cochise and find another way to do this."
"She's got a point," I said. "If we get into it with the Guardians we might be end up at half strength by the time we get to Cochise, and from the sound of it, we're going to need every gun we've got."
"And the keys to blow up the base are the biggest gun we can get," said Vargas. "What happens if we fight our way in and there's no way to shut down the computer? Do you think it's just gonna have a plug s
omewhere you can pull?"
Angie nodded. "If it really is self-aware, it's gonna be protecting itself every which way it can. We gotta bring everything we can think of."
Athalia frowned. "But do we have time to take another detour? We've got the armor now. Every hour we spend not going to Cochise is another hour its robots are out there killing everybody. Do you want those deaths on your hands?"
"There'll be even more deaths if we don't manage to kill it at all," said Vargas. "We've got one shot at this. We can't fuck it up."
Angie stood. "You two can go to Base Cochise if you want. We can't stop you. But we're gonna go see the Guardians."
I looked at Athalia. "What do you want to do?"
She shrugged. "What am I going to do at Base Cochise by myself? It's fine. I'm outvoted. Let's go."
***
But later that night it was a different story.
We were camped again after trekking all day twoardGuardian Citadel, and Athalia and I had once again found a place to lay out our bedrolls a little ways away from the others. We were lying there spent and sweaty after another romantic interlude, just getting our breath back.
I was about to roll back to my own bedroll when Athalia clamped her arms around me and whispered in my ear.
"Let's leave," she said. "Right now."
I was still recovering from our recent exertions and wasn't at my wittiest. "Huh?"
"I don't want to travel with your friends anymore. Let's leave them and go."
"Uh... to Base Cochise?"
"No!" She looked around, then lowered her voice again. "No. Fuck Base Cochise. Fuck the Guardians. Fuck this mission. Let's just go away together someplace, south maybe, and just... live."
I grunted and rolled off of her, then propped myself up on my elbow so I could look at her. Seemed like some of her old self was showing through, the tough tattooed self she was before she became a sister of the Mushroom Cloud.
"You know I can't do that," I said. "I'm still on this mission. I'm still a ranger, and—"
"But you're not! The ranger died two bodies ago." Athalia took my hand. "Listen, I appreciate that you still feel loyalty to the others, and I know this mission is important to you and the wastes, but... but I don't want you to die! I don't want the Guardians to kill you. Just... just let the others do it. They know what to do now. They know where to go. They have the skills. They don't need us. We don't have to be a part of... of what's coming."
I signed and lay back, staring up at the sky. "Everything you say makes sense, but I can't leave it half done. I... well, even if I don't owe it to them - or the world - I owe it to the man I was, the guy who died to make me - twice. Part of him is still part of me, and he can't let it go."
Athalia closed her eyes. A sob escaped her.
I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "I'm still coming with you, though. Don't worry. Once we finish off this damned AI, you and me'll go wherever you want. Do whatever you want. I promise."
"If," she said.
"Huh? If what?"
"It isn't 'Once we finish off the AI,' it's if." She turned away from me, cold. "If."
***
"Looks stronger than I remember."
"Yeah."
We were all crouched on a ridge about a half-mile out from Guardian Citadel, staring at its massive concrete frontage in the red light of the setting sun. The place was built inside a mountain with only a big walled-in courtyard and its massive bronze front door exposed. Angie was using the scope of her long gun to check it out, and she didn't seem to like the close-up any better than the rest of us liked the wide-angle.
"Well," said Vargas. "Hopefully it won't matter. Hopefully the Guardians will see that they're in as much danger from those robots as everybody else, and they'll hand over the keys without a fight."
"They won't," said Athalia. She'd been glum all day, and the sight of the Citadel seemed to be making her even glummer.
"Never had any dealings with these guys," said Ace. "What's their deal?"
"Their deal is they're assholes," snarled Hell Razor, and Thrasher nodded in silent agreement.
Ace rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but how are they assholes?"
Vargas laughed and slid down until his back was against the ridge, then lit up a smoke. "The Guardians of the Old Order know everything, have everything, and share nothing. They're a bunch of xenophobic maniacs who think that the world is a big old cosmic puzzle and that once they have all the pieces and know how to fit them together, the universe will grant them dominion over everything and everyone. And then the fun real will begin."
Ace blinked. "Uh... okay."
Angie came to the rescue. "They're a collector cult. They worship anything from before the apocalypse - washing machines, ball point pens, action figures, intercontinental ballistic missiles; you name it. They think it's sacred - all of it - wisdom of the ancients and all that. And therefore, anybody who has any old shit who isn't a Guardian is a heathen unbeliever defiling sacred objects, which must be taken away from them and kept safe in Guardian Citadel."
Vargas nodded. "And they're not above killing someone who doesn't want to give up their sacred stuff."
"Shit," said Hell Razor. "They're not above killing whole villages." He nodded toward Athalia. "I'm with the nun. They're not gonna listen to us. We should go in shootin'."
"We have to at least try to give 'em the benefit of the doubt," said Vargas. "It's the ranger way."
"And so is getting our asses blown to teeny little pieces, apparently," Hell Razor grumbled.
Vargas shrugged. "Last chance to get while the gettin's good. I ain't gonna order anyone to follow me in there, but I'm goin', and I'd welcome the backup."
"I'm in," said Angie.
"What the fuck else am I gonna do," said Hell Razor.
"If Angie goes, I go," said Ace.
As usual Thrasher just grunted, but it was an affirmative grunt.
Athalia looked at me. I couldn't meet her gaze. I hung my head. "Sorry, I haven't changed my mind."
"Then neither have I. I'm coming with you."
"Aw, come on, Athalia," I said. "It's obvious you don't wanna be part of this. Why not just wait for me here?"
"Because someone has to keep you safe." She stood. "Come on, let's get it over with."
We all went over our weapon checks, buttoned up our gear, and kissed our good-luck charms. I kissed Athalia, right out in front of everyone. Then, satisfied we'd done all we could to prepare, we wound our way along the twisted, uneven path that led down and around the mountainside to the Citadel's exterior fortifications.
The sun went down just as we came into killing range - marked by a line of bullet-pocked flagpoles and clusters of aged skeletons shining white in the light of an early moon.
"Not exactly encouraging, is it?" I said.
Vargas gave the skeletons a sour look, then squared his shoulders and pointed himself at the front gate, a hundred meters away. "Well, come on. Stand up straight and put your guns on your backs. If we sneak in like sappers they're gonna peg us for sure."
We lined up behind him like good little soldiers, but just as we were about to march forward, a massive goliath of a man in black armor and a motor cycle helmet eclipsed the splash of the Milky Way in the sky above. His voice boomed forth, loud and rumbling like an earthquake.
"YOU HAVE COME FAR ENOUGH. YOU SHALL GO NO FURTHER!"
Chapter Three
He was big enough, and was carrying a big enough axe - that it looked to me like the only way we'd get past him was if we stuffed sticks of TNT in every nook and cranny of that armor, lit him up, and did laundry before the blood stains could set, but Vargas just stepped around one of the half-buried skeletons and gave the guy a friendly little salute.
"Howdy, amigo," he said. "We were actually wondering if we could have a pow-wow with the boss man - or woman, as the case may be. We wanna ask 'em about the keys to the—"
"YOU HAVE CROSSED THE LINE OF DEATH! YOU MUST DIE!"
<
br /> "Uh, okay, then. What if I just step back out and ask again? Would that be—"
"DEATH TO THE OUTSIDERS!"
Goliath swung his axe at Vargas's head like he was looking to chop it off and send it flying all the way to Ranger Center, but Vargas ducked back and swung his AK-97 off his back in one smooth motion, then raised it to fire. So did everybody else.
"No." Thrasher was stepping forward and unlimbering his rebar billy-club. "The guardians won't talk to us if we kill him. Let me."
I blinked. That was more than all the other words than I'd ever heard Thrasher say combined.
Vargas laughed but lowered his gun. "You think they're gonna like it any better if you beat their guard dog senseless?"
Thrasher shrugged. "Mercy begets mercy. Sometimes."
Begets? Jesus.
He motioned to the black-armored behemoth, who had gone into a defensive posture when he'd seen all the guns. "You and me. Come on."
Goliath waved him forward. It wasn't until I saw them standing toe to toe that I realized just how big the guy was. Thrasher was as big as any man I'd ever met. Bigger by a head than those muscle-head raiders we'd tangled with back at White Mesa, but Goliath was a head taller than that, and wider too. Some of that was the armor, sure, but not much.
He swung his axe down at Thrasher like he wanted to end it in one shot. Thrasher sidestepped, then spun in, billy-club blurring. The first two hits made Goliath's chest armor ring like a dinner bell. The third cracked his motorcycle helmet across the face. It starred and he staggered back, but he didn't go down.
"OUCH!"
As Thrasher came in for the follow-up, Goliath swung the axe up from the ground and caught him in the side. The pseudo-chitin armor stopped the blade from chopping through Thrasher's ribs, but massive as he was, the force of the blow still launched him halfway across the narrow canyon and slammed him into the rock wall.
Thrasher pitched forward, groaning, but before Goliath could close, he turned it into a roll and came up into a crouch. I'm not sure if it was bravado or sheer willpower, but he didn't even rub the spot where the club had hit. He just grunted and advanced, billy-club swaying like an iron snake, as stone-faced as ever.
Death Machines - Ghost Book II Page 2
