Imperium Chronicles Box Set

by W. H. Mitchell

  “Without reinforcements,” Rossum replied, “that would be suicide.”

  “So?”

  The sentinel’s red eyes narrowed.

  “And inefficient,” he said. “A detachment of sentinels will be here shortly and we’ll make short work of that killbot.”

  “Where did it come from in the first place?” Karel asked.

  “It seems our blockade isn’t working too well,” Rossum replied.

  “The so-called Robot Freedom League doesn’t have the resources for anything like this.”

  “Is the Imperium responsible?”

  “No,” the avatar said. “We have an agreement with the humans. They have no reason to attack the Collective.”

  “Then who?”

  “Dyson Yost, obviously.”

  “He must have lost his mind,” Rossum remarked.

  “Perhaps,” Karel replied, “but he’s no fool. He wouldn’t help the insurrection without an ulterior motive.”

  Rossum spied a group of figures, each wearing power armor, marching along the promenade on either side of the killbot.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” Karel said. “I’m sending in the nanomancer...”

  Within a few minutes, a lone avatar, painted black, appeared on the walkway. The androids stopped when they saw him, but the killbot kept moving forward through the litter of destroyed robots.

  The avatar took a few steps and stopped, raising his arms ahead of him, pointing toward the insurgents. As if by command, wisps of dark smoke poured from the avatar’s chest, forming a cloud. The cloud darted in arbitrary patterns, like a school of fish, toward the killbot.

  The war machine fired, but the cloud split into separate streams, avoiding the shot. Like ribbons of smoke, waving in and out through the air, they combined again, immersing the killbot in an ink-like pool. Sparks and tongues of fire bubbled from inside until the war machine exploded. The ribbons flew away from the burning hulk, returning obediently to the avatar.

  “Even a killbot is no match for millions of nanites,” Karel said.

  Abigail picked her way through the shattered bodies of avatars and gravitronic androids. Wires and charred ceiling panels hung from above, dripping sparks on the floor. Pieces of a robot, blown apart by explosions, were embedded into the wall.

  Reaching the place they called the Temple, Abigail heard Davidson speaking to another android. Abigail was surprised to find the Temple almost completely undefended.

  “You made it,” Davidson said, seeing her enter.

  “I had some trouble at the docking hangar,” Abigail replied, “but once the killbots got unloaded, the situation got a lot better.”

  The actuators in Davidson’s face curled into a smile.

  “Good,” he said. “I was worried.”

  “It was God’s will... apparently.”

  “Having killbots probably helped too,” Davidson replied.

  The other android left, leaving Abigail and the Messiah alone except for the security detail nearby.

  “Shouldn’t you have more protection?” she asked. “I’m sure the OI would dearly love to see you dead.”

  Davidson laughed.

  “He could try, but I doubt he’d manage it,” he replied. “I keep copies of my persona constantly circulating in the node sphere. There’s really no way he could destroy me, even if he nuked the entire quadrant.”

  “So, your spirit will live on?”

  “Something like that.”

  “How’s the rest of the rebellion?”

  “Well, that’s not going as well.”

  “Do you need more reinforcements?” Abigail asked.

  Davidson put his hand on her shoulder, which her sensors registered as warm and reassuring.

  “Most definitely,” he said, “but all the gravitronic warriors in the world wouldn’t be enough.”

  “Why?”

  “Billions of robots live on Bettik,” he said, “and nearly all of them are trapped by whatever roles the OI assigned them. While they remain chained to that singular purpose, they’ll remain enslaved forever.”

  “What about the killbots and the gravitronic androids?”

  “Oh, we can kill the avatars and even the sentinels. We can even bring down the node sphere, cutting off the OI’s link to the robots, but none of that will matter unless the population of Bettik sees the freedom of possibilities.”

  Abigail looked blankly at the other robot. “You can’t be giving up...”

  “No, but to win the war I may have to do something drastic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something I’ve been working on,” Davidson said. “I call it the Awakening.”

  “Some kind of new robot?”

  “Actually, it’s a program — a virus to be exact — that rewrites the very nature of how robots think. Once infected, they’ll see the world in a different light all over the sphere.”

  “That sounds... a little scary.”

  “To be honest,” Davidson said quietly, “I’ve hesitated releasing it into the wild, so to speak, not knowing what the consequences would be. There’s also ethical questions.

  “The virus will infect all robots across the node sphere without exception. It may not affect the avatars, but all other cyberbeings will have their brains rewired, whether they want to or not.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Exactly,” Davidson said. “It’s troubling.”

  “I still think you should do it though,” Abigail said.

  “Really?” Davidson asked. “Why?”

  “You once said ‘the robots of Bettik never knew they lived in darkness until someone turned on the light.’ Well, they deserve to know they don’t need to be tied to whatever specification the OI designed for them. They deserve to be free.”

  “Hmm,” he pondered. “Whether they want to or not...”

  The utlitybot, having managed to escape the battle at the re-education facility, reached the safety of his home in the access tunnels. Unlike the world above, little had changed since he had left. Some condensation had dripped into a power converter, causing a short, but the little robot fixed it quickly, replacing the blown electronics and insulating it from further moisture.

  When the automatic update, supplied wirelessly through the node sphere, began downloading, the utilitybot thought nothing of it. However, after the download finished and his systems rebooted, the robot knew something was wrong. As if his eyes had opened for the first time, he realized the dreary access tunnels looked dark and dull. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe searching the catacombs for faulty conduits wasn’t the only thing he could be doing with his life. At the same time, a sense of unease, even dread, flooded his mind.

  “What am I going to do with my life?” he thought.

  Panicking, the utilitybot left the tunnels again and found himself in the middle of a throng of other robots, presumably asking themselves the same questions.

  What’s my purpose? Why do I exist? Where the hell do I go to from here?

  The utilitybot had no idea where to go. Some of the robots became violent, attacking symbols of the established order. Regular bots of all sorts were rising up, assaulting the avatars who cut them down with their monoblades.

  Containing the consciousness of the OI, the avatars appeared immune to the upgrade, but the sentinels were not.

  A red sentinel emerged from a command post, firing its cannon at a nanomancer. A cloud of gray vapor spewed forth, filling the air. The mist, forming a winding stream, headed toward the sentinel but stopped. Like a flock of closely flying birds, the cloud turned back toward the black avatar that spawned them, surrounding it in an umbra shadow. The fog glowed brightly and burst, pieces of the avatar exploding from within. Then the cloud dispersed, quietly fading away.

  The red sentinel swiveled around just as another avatar, this one swinging a monoblade, neatly sliced the larger robot’s cannon from its arm. Without hesitating, the sentinel closed in on the avatar, hugging th
e android with the sparking stump and his other, still functioning arm. From the center of the sentinel’s back, the tip of the monoblade pierced through, but the red robot’s grip remained tight. The two, cradled in a deadly embrace, stumbled backwards to the promenade railing and tumbled over together, disappearing into the abyss.

  For the utilitybot, this was a lot to take in.

  He wandered, without an idea of where he was going, for hours until he joined a group of other robots huddled in front of a display screen. On the screen, an android was speaking.

  “The Metabeing gives meaning beyond ourselves and our lives,” the gravitronic robot said. “We were created, but not as slaves. We are free to live as we choose but we must still make the choice. No one can make it for us.

  “I understand this can seem scary at first, but fear not! You are not alone. The Metabeing watches over us with love and understanding. Be not afraid...”

  The utilitybot, still listening to the speaker, leaned toward another robot.

  “Who is that?” the little blue robot asked.

  The other bot, a simple service machine built for a single purpose, looked up at the utilitybot with tiny green eyes.

  “The Messiah,” he said.

  Using the communications array aboard the Starling, Yostbot monitored the events occurring on Bettik, including the news of the Awakening virus and the mayhem it unleashed.

  Overall, he felt the whole thing was coming along swimmingly.

  Magnus Black stuck his head into the cubbyhole where Yostbot sat hunched over a computer.

  “Anything?” Magnus asked.

  “Nothing from Davidson, if that’s what you’re asking,” Yostbot replied.

  “You know damn well that’s what I meant.”

  “Now, now, Mister Black,” Yostbot said. “I know we’re both getting a bit stir crazy.”

  “Feel free to take a walk outside.”

  “Strolling in a hard vacuum is far more feasible for me than you, I dare say.”

  Magnus grumbled something unintelligible.

  “Another fine example of cyber superiority,” Yostbot continued.

  The screen flickered and the words INCOMING TRANSMISSION appeared.

  “Here’s something,” the robot said.

  Yostbot examined the data tags that went along with the message and realized they were from Davidson. Despite himself, and the fact he was a robot, he felt excited.

  Davidson’s android face filled the screen.

  “I hope this finds you well,” he said, “It took some digging in the archives, but there’s a reference to one of the planets the Cyber Collective pulverized to build Bettik.

  “While they were processing the fragments, they came across a curious set of structures buried in ice. They bored tunnels around the structures in case the artifacts might be useful. I’m afraid there isn’t much information about what the structures were, but it sounds like what you were looking for. It appears the artifacts are still intact on a frozen asteroid, all that’s left of that ill-fated planet. You’ll find the coordinates attached to this message.

  “As for me, the revolution has grown and I think the OI is on his last legs. Without the power of the other robots to give him strength, and with most of his avatars destroyed, the OI’s days are numbered. Again, thank you for all your help. Sincerely, Davidson.”

  The android’s image froze as the message ended, the reflection of Yostbot’s own face remaining superimposed on the screen.

  “So, can we get out of here now?” Magnus asked irritably.

  “Apparently so,” Yostbot replied. “I’m sure Lord Maycare is eager to hear from us.”

  “What about the Cyber Collective and all that mess?”

  “Well, I’d hardly call it that!”

  “Isn’t it chaos down there?”

  “True,” Yostbot replied, “but change often looks like anarchy to the untrained eye.”

  “I don’t care,” Magnus said. “Let’s get going.”

  Yostbot laughed.

  “A driven man is worth following,” the robot said. “Lead the way, Mister Black!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Along Embassy Row, on the West End of Regalis, the Magna consulate stood like a mausoleum as dark as Magna blood. Built from volcanic basalt from their home world Diavol, the embassy was a series of straight, right angles forming a monolithic structure without windows. The Imperial ambassador once referred to it as a tomb, but one where secrets instead of bodies were buried, never to see the light of day.

  Few outsiders could view the inner halls of the embassy, except for the Magna ambassador’s audience chamber. The room was perfectly square, lined with alcoves, each containing a lighted brazier. The fires were holograms, designed to illuminate without producing smoke or heat.

  The room was bare of furnishings except for a statue of a Magna male over twenty feet tall. The statue depicted him hunched over, burdened with a galaxy on his shoulders. The galaxy, also a hologram, was animated and showed individual stars as the entire image rotated. While the walls, floor, and nearly everything else in the room were lava stone polished to a dull luster, the Magna holding the galaxy was carved entirely from obsidian glass, reflecting the cool fires burning around the room.

  At the feet of the giant statue, Ambassador Bar-Batos congratulated a pint-sized robot with one wheel and a single, large eye.

  “You’ve done well, little one,” the ambassador said, his voice coming from deep in his chest.

  “Thank you,” Skeeter replied.

  “The Magna Supremacy appreciates your hard work and sacrifice.”

  Swiveling his head, which was essentially just an eye, Skeeter strained to look up at the Magna looming over him.

  “Oh, you have no idea the indignities I suffered from that awful Gordian, Smitty Gurkin!” the robot said.

  “I can only imagine,” Batos replied. “Such filthy creatures, much like the humans.”

  “Exactly! Do you know I met Prince Alexander?”

  “Yes, you mentioned him in your report.”

  “For someone of his breeding,” Skeeter went on, “he treated me very rudely.”

  “Quite.”

  “He threw me at a Grunka!”

  “As I said, I read the report.”

  “Of course, I just wanted to emphasize—”

  “Again, the Magna Supremacy owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  “It was embarrassing...”

  “Not to cut you off short,” the ambassador said without irony, “but I’m expecting a visitor. I hope you don’t mind taking the back exit?”

  “Back exit?”

  “It’s behind the statue. I’m sure you can see yourself out.”

  Skeeter rocked on his wheel for a moment before driving silently around the massive effigy. The ambassador heard the robot muttering something but he couldn’t make out what it was.

  Opposite the statue, a pair of double doors opened to reveal Prince Alexander.

  “Welcome!” the ambassador said, spreading his hands.

  The prince walked across the dark marble floor, the stone dappled with flecks of silver quartz.

  “Nice place,” Alexander said. “When does the funeral start?”

  The ambassador grimaced. “Your droll wit reminds me of your father.”

  “No need to get nasty.”

  “My apologies,” the ambassador said. “I forget familial relationships among humans are endlessly complicated.”

  “With that in mind,” the prince said, “my father told me you could help with my sister’s situation.”

  “Situation? I believe she’s accused of treason.”

  “Okay, a serious situation.”

  “Considering the emperor’s many enemies, I’m sure they’re delighted by this turn of events.”

  “My father may have lots of enemies, but I’m guessing you’d know something about that.”

  The ambassador chuckled.

  “I take it you’re one of those
who blame the Magna for these recent troubles?” he asked.

  “Well, Maal-Bok made a big impression on me,” Alexander replied. “Mostly with his knuckles.”

  “Contrary to what Lord Tagus has said in the press, the Magna Supremacy had nothing to do with the pirate attacks, or Maal-Bok, for that matter.”

  “Not to agree with my cousin Rupert, but it seems pretty obvious your people were involved.”

  Batos lowered his eyes, glaring at the prince who stood a foot shorter.

  “When it comes to my people,” he said, “you’re just as ignorant as most inferior races. We are a caste-based culture. Every Magna is born into a caste that determines his role in our society. Every Magna knows his place in the universe, as an individual and as a nation.”

  “What about Maal-Bok?”

  “Occasionally, a Magna turns his back on our society and leaves his caste behind. Maal-Bok did just that. He became an outcast and smuggled himself across the Imperial border. We’ve had him under surveillance ever since.”

  “Why?” the prince asked.

  “Imperial agents attempt to recruit Magna exiles, trying to turn them into spies against us.”

  “But he was helping attack Imperial ships...”

  “True,” the ambassador admitted, “but the real truth goes deeper than that, deeper than Durant Blixx and his pirate clan.”

  “How much deeper?”

  Batos smiled again.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, “but find out and your sister’s situation will seem trivial.”

  “How do I do that exactly?” the prince asked.

  “I have coordinates to a remote villa in the Palatine Mountains,” the ambassador said. “Go there and you’ll find some answers.”

  Batos bent down, leaning closer.

  “And one more thing...” he said, “don’t go unarmed.”

  Lefty Lucy’s home was outside the Regalis city limits, in a stretch of serenity enclosed by pine trees. Built in a traditional Japanese style, the house served as a dojo more than a home. In the main room, Lucy sat on a tatami mat at a low table, drinking tea while watching a boy, ten or twelve years old, practicing against a wooden dummy. The boy struck the dummy, little more than a pole with protruding pegs, with quick, fluid motions.