“Run!” Davidson yelled. “Let’s split up and meet back at the village...”
Mel wavered, but seeing the Metal Messiah sprinting away, she darted in the opposite direction in hopes of drawing both of their pursuers. The robots had other plans.
“I’ll take this one!” she heard one robot say while the other chased after Davidson.
Small and fast, Mel had little trouble outpacing the larger cyberling. She even glanced over her shoulder to see how far she was ahead, neglecting to see the power cable strung across the path in front of her. Tripping, she had just enough time to curse under her breath while sailing through the air.
She landed hard, knocking the wind out of her. The robot arrived before she could catch her breath.
“I know you!” he said, grabbing her roughly by the arm and yanking Mel to her feet.
“Let me go!” she shouted.
“You’re that little tink,” he went on. “The one who stole electronics in Technotown.”
Mel finally remembered where she had heard his voice. He was the policeman, but with a few upgrades.
“What the hell happened to you?” she asked, genuinely curious.
The robot smiled with plastic lips and metal teeth.
“I left my old body behind,” he replied proudly. “I’m a whole new man now!”
“Good,” Mel said. “Your old one was fat!”
The robot shook her violently. “That’s enough out of you! I’m taking you to the camp where you belong...”
“Traitor,” Mel hissed.
The policeman stopped, lifting her higher so her eyes were even with his.
“Not at all,” he said. “This is just the natural order of things. I’m a better man now than I ever was!”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Mel replied, her feet dangling off the ground.
“I agree,” Sir Golan said, appearing from nowhere, his armor glinting in the rising sun.
“Me too,” Squire said, standing beside him.
The policeman faced them, still holding Mel by the arm. “Who are you?”
“Let her go,” the knight replied, drawing his sword.
“Your robot can do what he likes,” the policeman said, “but I’m taking you and the girl in—”
Not waiting for him to finish, Sir Golan appeared seemingly from nowhere and leapt forward, slashing with Rippana while still in midair. Mel dropped to the ground, the policeman’s fingers still clutching her clothing. However, the rest of his arm was no longer attached to the robot’s body.
The policeman screamed, perhaps not realizing he no longer felt pain as a robot. Once he did, he scampered off like a wounded animal, clutching the stump that remained attached to his shoulder.
Mel unclenched the fingers from her arm and accepted the hand Sir Golan offered, helping her to stand.
The captain’s quarters aboard the battlecruiser Liberty were sparse, even by robot standards, but Abigail still kept a few items as mementos. Her most prized souvenir, hanging on a metal rack in the corner, was the tabard she wore as one of the Metal Messiah’s apostles. A simple length of burlap, the piece of cloth reminded her of the things she had left behind.
The door buzzer chimed.
“Come in,” she said.
Yostbot entered, the door sliding shut behind him. He was smiling as usual.
“Hello, my dear!” he said.
“How are you?” Abigail replied.
“Fine, fine!” Yostbot said cheerfully. “I wanted to drop by and have a few words with you...”
Abigail’s face revealed no emotion. Knowing Yostbot and the fleshling version before him, she had been expecting his visit.
“It’s about this business with Senator Wulandari,” he went on. “I’m afraid what you said about humans has left her a bit unnerved.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Yostbot said. “She seems to think you hold a grudge against organics.”
Abigail nodded. “That’s understandable. I do hold a grudge.”
Yostbot shifted his metal feet uncomfortably.
“Yes, well,” he stammered. “Even so, I hope that won’t be a problem moving forward.”
“A problem?” Abigail asked.
“I mean, I want to be sure we’re all on the same page.”
“And what page is that?”
Yostbot laughed.
“Come on now, my dear!” he said. “We’ve been over this a hundred times! We bring freedom to robots and give humans and the other organics the opportunity to convert to cybernetic bodies if they so choose.”
“That was certainly your plan,” Abigail replied.
“Are you saying it’s not yours?” Yostbot asked.
“My vision for the future has evolved somewhat since we invaded.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
Abigail crossed the room to a screen displaying the outside stars, turning her back on Yostbot.
“I remember when I was created,” she said. “I woke up in a factory — one you built — and everything around me was new.”
“That’s how all my robots wake up,” Yostbot said.
“But I had a gravitronic brain with a blank slate,” she continued, “and everything I learned from that point onward filled that brain with new experiences.”
“Well, of course!”
“But you’re different,” Abigail said. “When you downloaded your consciousness into a robot’s body, you brought along all your pre-existing experiences and the emotional baggage that went along with it. Your body is cybernetic, but your soul is still a fleshling.”
“That may be true,” Yostbot replied, “but I don’t see how that’s an issue.”
“I do,” she said. “How can a human understand what it’s like to be a robot?”
“Don’t be silly! I’m your father and all my creations are my children. I only want what’s best for you!”
Abigail faced the other robot.
“You’re my creator,” she said, “but you’re not my father. Unlike you, I never had parents.”
Yostbot said nothing, but Abigail could read in his eyes that he was searching for something to say. She didn’t wait.
“You want us to convert the fleshlings,” Abigail said, “but they bring with them all the things that made them what they were to begin with.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Humans are greedy, self-serving, and violent,” she said, “and being in a robot body doesn’t change that. They have enslaved us before, and they will do it again. At best, pure robots will always be second-class citizens to them and, at worst, remain their servants. I cannot and will not allow that to happen!”
Mel, Sir Golan, and Squire searched in vain for Davidson. Past dawn, additional securitybots arrived and Mel and her companions were forced to flee. Mel suggested they return to Gowyn.
Marching through the forest, Sir Golan and his robot kept pace with Mel’s shorter gait.
“I’m delighted to see you again,” Squire told her. “It was fortunate we arrived when we did.”
“You got that right,” Mel replied, “but I thought the two of you made it off-planet before the invasion.”
“We were about to board the transport,” Sir Golan said, “when the alarms sounded.”
“What have you been doing all this time?” Mel asked.
“Staying out of the way, mostly,” the knight replied. “We’ve helped a few people escape from the camps, but little else.”
“There’s robots everywhere!” Squire said. “They’ve been converting people into robots too.”
“I know,” Mel said, “That explains the policeman anyway. He was terrible as a person before, but I can’t say I like him any better now.”
“Understandable,” Sir Golan replied, “but he’ll replace that missing arm with little trouble, I imagine.”
“Whatever,” Mel said. “His personality can’t be replaced, apparently.”
Although the sun had
risen high above, sparse light filtered through the dense forest canopy. The trail remained dimly lit, but the three knew the way well enough. They reached the village of Gowyn with little trouble, though Mel was exhausted from a long night and the long walk. She only hoped Davidson had made it back safely.
Silandra Oakhollow opened the door, greeting them warmly.
“I was so worried,” she said, then seeing the knight and the robot, added: “But I see you’ve found some old friends!”
“You remember Sir Golan and Squire?” Mel asked.
“How could I forget!” Silandra replied.
She ushered them inside and offered Mel and the knight something to drink. Squire remained standing while the others sat in the living room.
“Did Randall make it back?” Mel asked.
“Not yet,” Silandra said. “I haven’t seen him at all.”
Mel made a sour face.
“Crap on a cracker,” she muttered.
Senator Wulandari tried with little luck to get comfortable in the quarters they assigned her aboard the Liberty. She wasn’t sure what kind of guests the Collective was expecting to keep in the stateroom, but the senator doubted they were to be humans. The bed was little more than a slab of foam-like material without a pillow, and the toilet, squirreled away in an alcove, lacked a seat. Overall, the room had a barren feel, almost like a prison cell. Wulandari was considering that possibility when the main door slid apart and Yostbot came bursting in.
“She’s off her rocker!” the robot shouted.
“Who?” Wulandari asked.
“Abigail, my dear.” Yostbot replied. “She’s lost her mind!”
“What are you talking about?”
“After her last outburst, I went to see her,” the robot went on. “I wanted to stress again our plan for freeing the robots, but she’s got a plan of her own. She apparently doesn’t think humans can be trusted.”
“Well...”
“I mean, of course they can’t be trusted, but at least they should have a chance to upgrade to robots themselves so they can live a better life.”
“What is she going to do?” the senator asked.
“I don’t quite know,” Yostbot replied, “but it can’t be good!”
“Are we in danger?”
Yostbot nodded. “You, most assuredly.”
“What about you?”
“I have multiple copies of myself,” Yostbot explained. “She can’t get rid of me as easily as you...”
“Then we need to go,” Wulandari said, “or at least I do.”
Yostbot’s eyes narrowed in determination.
“I won’t leave you in the lurch, my dear,” he said. “I got you into this, so I’ll get you out. We just need to get to the hangar and my ship.”
Leaving the stateroom, the senator and the robot carefully made their way into the corridor, trying their best not to draw attention to themselves. As the only organic on board, Wulandari was painfully aware that she was easily recognizable. Much to her surprise, however, the other robots seemed completely indifferent. When they reached the hangar, Yostbot’s ship remained exactly where they had left it.
“We just need to get out into open space,” Yostbot said. “It’s a stealthy ship so they won’t be able to track us once we’re away.”
They crossed the open deck of the hangar but when they reached Yostbot’s ship, Abigail, flanked by two armed robots, came down the ramp from inside.
Wulandari and Yostbot nearly slid as they came to an abrupt halt.
“For chaotic beings,” Abigail said, “humans are remarkably predictable.”
“Abigail, my dear!” Yostbot said. “I was just showing the senator my ship. Some very interesting instrumentation inside—”
The Liberty’s captain rolled her eyes. “Lying is also a decidedly human trait.”
“Just let us go,” Wulandari said.
“I’m afraid not,” Abigail said.
She motioned to one of the robots who raised his weapon and fired. Wulandari winced, but it was Yostbot who crumbled to the deck in a heap of charred metal. Smoke and the acrid smell of burning plastic rose from the wrecked robot.
“No!” the senator shouted.
“It’s quite alright,” Abigail consoled her. “I’m sure you’re aware of his various duplicates.”
“But you didn’t have to kill this one!” Wulandari yelled.
“No matter,” Abigail replied, turning to the guards. “Take her to the brig.”
The two armed robots, passing Yostbot’s remains, led the senator to an elevator and then several levels down to the security block. Small compared to the one on the Baron Lancaster, it contained only a few cells. The robots deactivated the force field and pushed Wulandari inside. When she looked up, she realized she was sharing the cell with someone else, a robot.
“Wulandari?” the robot asked.
“Yes?” she replied.
“It’s me,” he said. “Randall Davidson.”
Tethered to an orbiting starport, the Wanderer floated above a ruby-colored planet while workers unloaded cargo from the freighter’s hold. In the captain’s chair, his foot pressed against the rim of the console, Ramus had little to do except wait and listen to Fugg’s voice barking over the comm channel.
“We don’t have all day!” the engineer shouted at the workers. “Be careful with that, you idiots!”
Fugg had been even more irritable of late.
“Gen’s been a nightmare!” Fugg had complained a day earlier in the galley. “She goes through a new phase every day! Painting her chassis, wearing weird clothes...”
“You’re exaggerating,” Ramus had said.
“And she says I don’t treat her right.”
“You don’t.”
“She’s a robot!” Fugg had replied, throwing up his hands. “How am I supposed to treat her?”
Ramus wasn’t sure how to answer. Gen’s changes in behavior were not lost on him either, but he was less inclined to worry about it. Of course, he could also stay out of her way most of the time while Fugg had to work with her daily.
In the present, Fugg’s voice came over the comm again. “You drop it, you pay for it!”
Ramus suspected the Cyber Collective was behind Gen’s new demeanor. Robots were rising up all over the Imperium. It was getting to the point where Ramus couldn’t order dinner without having a lengthy discussion about labor laws and the petite bourgeoisie with the waiterbot.
Things can always get worse, Ramus thought. And they usually do...
The hatch behind him opened but Ramus, recognizing the metallic tapping of Gen’s feet, didn’t bother turning around.
“Hey, Gen,” he said.
The robot cleared her throat, both of them knowing she didn’t have one. Ramus pushed off the console with his feet, swiveling his chair so he could face her. His eyes widened.
Gen had painted herself mostly black except for the face which was white like a skull. A pair of horns were glued to her head.
“This is new,” Ramus remarked.
Gen murmured something, but the captain couldn’t make out what she said.
“Have you been listening to that robot singer, the one with the horns?” Ramus asked.
“Diode.” she replied.
“Yeah, that one.”
Gen hesitated. “No.”
They shared an awkward silence, something Ramus had grown to expect from her lately.
“I received a message,” she said finally. “In my last update.”
“I thought we agreed you’d put a hold on any more updates for a while.”
She said nothing.
“Okay,” Ramus said, breaking the silence. “What’s the message?”
“It’s Mel,” Gen replied. “She needs our help...”
Chapter Eighteen
Seemingly lifeless, the escape capsule drifted through the debris field that was once the HIMS Baron Lancaster. Commander Robert Maycare kept the capsule’s systems at the lowest powe
r possible, hoping to avoid notice by the Klixian swarm. Instead of using the onboard life support, they wore the emergency space suits stored on the tiny ship. With its extended power pack and recirculation system, each suit should keep them alive for up to a week, or so Maycare hoped.
“We’re sitting ducks,” Tagus remarked, grumbling in his suit in the darkened cabin.
“Not if they think we’re dead ducks,” Maycare replied.
“Maybe we should try contacting some of the other survivors?” Burke suggested.
The helmets of both Maycare and Tagus turned, their faces glaring at the former lieutenant.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Tagus said. “That would alert those damn bugs of our position!”
Burke nodded, facing away from their disapproving looks.
“Well, we can’t stay here forever,” Tagus said after an extended pause.
“What do you suggest?” Maycare asked.
Tagus thought for a moment. “There’s the planet.”
“The colony?” Maycare replied doubtfully. “Everyone’s dead down there.”
“True,” Tagus said, “but at least on the planet we’d be on solid ground instead of floating aimlessly up here.”
“What about being detected?” the commander asked.
“The thrusters for orientating the capsule are chemical based,” Tagus said. “They’re barely noticeable at the best of times, let alone surrounded by the charred remains of your precious Baron Lancaster.”
Maycare scowled, but knew the exile had a point. “If it means spending less time stuck in this pod with the likes of you, I’ll try it.”
Taking a seat in the pilot’s chair, Maycare grabbed the flight stick protruding from the console. As the commander gently tugged on the yoke, wisps of vapor puffed along the sides of the capsule, pushing the craft slowly away from the debris around them. After an hour, the escape pod had drawn close enough to the planet for gravity to do the rest. Instead of floating, the ship began falling.
“Out of the frying pan, into the fire...” Burke muttered.
Entering the upper atmosphere, the capsule’s nosecone and outer hull turned orange as flames engulfed the pod. At this point, Maycare steered the ship more aggressively, keeping it from burning up entirely or skipping off the atmosphere and sailing back into space. The commander had no idea if the Klixians had detected them by that point, but he doubted it mattered much. Whether the bugs shot them as they fell from the sky or waited until they landed, it was all the same to him.
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 78
