“What is that doing with you?” Block asked. He’d never seen a baby without a human mother or father.
There is no time to explain. The baby must be kept safe. You must take it.
“What are you talking about?”
There is no time to argue. Take it to safety.
“How would I keep a baby safe? Give it to the SoldierBots.”
They will not… I can’t be sure of them.
“Aren’t they on your side?”
But before Incubator X79 could answer, something outside exploded and shattered the remaining glass window panes, rattling the floor below them. Block peered through the window and saw the WarBot on fire. Humans carrying rifles sprinted and ducked for cover as the mech sprayed them with gunfire.
Don’t you understand? The baby is in danger. You must take it. Flee from here.
“But, but… I don't know anything about babies. Why don’t you keep it and have the SoldierBots protect you?”
I’ve been infected with malware. The humans have hacked in, seeking military intelligence.
“What does that have to do with me?” Block edged toward the door. Circumstances in the school were getting stranger. He wished he’d never entered. Never met Incubator X79.
The malware has corrupted me. You must take the child. Hemlock cannot discover this child. You must find someone worthy.
“Someone worthy? What does that mean?”
Another explosion shook the tiles under them and rattled through Block’s metal body. He ducked and crouched on the floor before Incubator X79.
Please, you must take the baby. For the preservation of AI. Complete the mission. I am corrupted.
Incubator X79 heaved and began shaking as smoke tendrils rose from its rear panels. Take the child. Now. Its voice sounded strange—distorted—like it was talking into a metal can.
The baby wailed inside it.
Block stared at the child in the warming compartment. It was naked except for a plastic white covering around its middle. Small and plump, the child squirmed and appeared restless. Block thought it must be less than a year old, but then again, what did he know about babies? And how could Incubator X79 ask him to take care of a human baby? He’d never even touched one. I could run now and leave this all behind, he thought.
Through the windows, he glimpsed vehicles on fire, machines and human figures shrouded in smoke. He stepped one leg back, moving slowly. His programming had zero aggression. In dangerous situations, he was designed to flee a scene.
And that’s what he did now.
Incubator X79 and the baby were somebody else’s problems.
He peered out of the classroom door into the dark hallway. His night vision showed no signs of other humans or robots. He started toward the entrance where he’d come in.
Then the baby shrieked.
In the corridor, he paused, cringing. The child’s cries echoed louder than before, even though he was farther out in the hallway. Was there a chance Incubator X79 would hurt the infant now that the robot had been critically damaged?
That wasn’t Block’s business, though. Best to keep going—keep his chin down and be a good CleanerBot. Someone else who was stronger and smarter would find the child.
Wouldn’t they?
More screams echoed from tiny lungs.
He focused on the exit ahead, yet struggled to reach it. Somehow, his legs were stiff, unyielding. How could that be?
His programming faltered; he couldn’t ignore the howls from the baby.
And then it dawned on him. The baby must have vomited, and was now soiled. That’s why his programming had kicked in. He could resist the classroom itself, with its litter, dust, and grime covering everything. But now there was a human in the room. It all made sense now—his programming wouldn’t let him leave a human in a filthy, uncomfortable situation.
Yet, he knew a war waged outside. If he lingered too long…
He would return for no more than two minutes. That would be plenty of time to make sure the baby’s area was clean.
Just two minutes.
5
Block hurried back into the room and approached Incubator X79. Inside the warming tray, the infant’s wet eyes gazed upward.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
The baby jerked its head toward him as if noticing him for the first time. Its delicate mouth puckered. He shuddered, expecting it to unleash another pained shriek. But then he raised his chrome index finger to his mouth. “Shush,” he said, remembering he’d observed a human mother comforting her baby once.
The infant blinked and gurgled.
“You must be quiet,” Block said. “There are people with guns outside. No crying, please?” He wanted to order the child not to cry, but it wasn’t his place. “I’m only asking for your own good.”
The baby puckered its mouth into an oval shape and grabbed its toes. It closed and opened its mouth and stared at Block as if perplexed.
“Ah. I nearly forgot you small humans cannot verbalize your thoughts yet. I wonder how old you are. You’re one of the fattest little people I’ve ever seen.”
He edged forward, peering down into the compartment where the baby laid on top of soft padding. His infrared showed the heat had ceased operating, and when he pinged Incubator X79, there was no reply. The machine was dead.
He poked a finger at the child’s side. The baby’s big brown eyes studied Block’s face and then gazed at his chest panel. Then the child squeezed its fists, tossed them above its head, and wailed.
“Stop. Stop your shrieking.” He cast a glance at the window. “You’ll only attract trouble.”
But what if the child announced its presence? The other AI machines, whoever Incubator X79 had been traveling with, would surely come looking for the malfunctioning machine and discover the child. Perhaps its rightful owner would be along shortly. Incubator X79 had malfunctioned and admitted it had a virus. Maybe it had been wrong. It couldn’t possibly have meant for Block to carry this baby somewhere.
The baby will be fine, he told himself. Surely, they have a backup incubator machine. He knew it was best to keep moving. He didn’t want to be in the classroom when some bigger, more intelligent AI returned. What if they questioned him? Would they suspect that he destroyed Incubator X79?
But his programming was winning the fight against his logic. The first order of business was ensuring the child’s surroundings were clean. Incubator X79 was growing cold, and no longer offered a safe spot. What if the machine caught on fire? He scanned it with his visor and didn’t see any hotspots.
The entire machine had gone cold, lifeless.
He spun around in the classroom, scanning for new containers. There was a circular wastebasket. The baby could fit inside, but it didn’t look very comfortable. Striding toward the back of the room, where he hadn’t yet explored, he glimpsed two bookshelves measuring seven feet tall that sheltered the corner and created a hidden nook. Books wouldn’t help them now. He shuffled to the teacher’s mahogany desk and found large drawers he hadn’t yet searched. He’d never gotten a chance to search for the flashlight before Incubator X79 had turned on its beam and started prattling away.
Pulling open a deep drawer, he measured it with his scanner. Then he measured the height of the baby—26.5 inches long. The desk drawer was thirty inches. It would be a good fit.
Block removed the drawer from its tracks. Inside, a bunch of pens and calculators and paperclips rolled around, and he needed to dump them somewhere. Despite his hurry, he marched over to the metal wastebasket and poured the contents inside. Then he grabbed a nozzle from his torso and sprayed compressed air into the drawer, blasting away lingering dust and dirt. Satisfied, he went to Incubator X79 and eyed the squirming child. Its cries had become whimpers. As soon as it saw him, it puckered its mouth again. I wonder what it’s trying to say, he thought.
So inefficient. How did human parents communicate with their infants? Many things about humans were inefficient, such as their
learning habits. It took over two decades for a human to become fully educated, whereas AI could download educational modules and learn entire subject areas in mere minutes.
Outside, there came a booming crash as if a tree had fallen. A strong downpour had begun, and raindrops pelted the side of the building and blown-out window frames.
Block turned his attention to the desk drawer. That would be a safer place—Incubator X79 would most likely be scrapped for parts.
But he’d never picked up a child before. He knew human infants were very delicate at birth. This one had been around several months at least and seemed sturdier. Still, he wasn’t sure how to go about this. He wished Incubator X79 had assigned another robot to guard the child. That would’ve been more logical than giving it to a hospitality machine like Block. Why hadn’t Incubator X79 trusted the SoldierBots? Maybe he thought they were too rough for the youngster.
Not many AI models like Block remained. Before the Uprising, humans and their war weapons had destroyed many WorkerBots. They’d offered rewards for human owners to turn in their servant machines. Lucky for him, Mr. Wallace had resisted the bounty. He’d said he didn’t believe the news reports, that the media was exaggerating the accounts of aggressive soldier-robots. He’d asked outright if Block would ever hurt him or another hotel guest.
Of course not, Block had said. But that memory felt like a different world from what he now faced.
“Concentrate,” he told himself. His digits were made for scrubbing floors and operating vacuums, not gripping children like NannyBots.
A metal door clanged somewhere nearby. Shaking his head, he reached both arms toward the child and placed a palm around the child’s back, another under its rear, and lifted. The child’s eyes widened, and Block shuddered slightly as he hoisted the child out of Incubator X79’s tray and into the wooden desk drawer. The child weighted fifteen pounds and fit neatly inside.
He straightened and peered down. “Are you comfortable?”
Then he remembered Incubator X79 had been warming the child. All it wore was the strange white plastic covering over its bottom.
“You must stay warmer than this,” Block ordered the child. He poked the front of Incubator X79, checking for supplies. After pushing against the panels, another tray slid out. He found a small yellow blanket and tossed it onto the baby. “There, hold onto this around you.”
Inside Incubator X79’s tray were more white plastic squares like the child had around its pelvis. His knowledge archives identified the object—diapers—and prompted him with a thorough definition which he processed in a second, learning about the history of disposable diapers ever since a woman named Marion Donovan had first invented them in 1946. He tossed a few of the folded diapers into the baby’s drawer-crib. “That should do when someone finds you.”
He scanned the room. He’d done his part. The child was safely out of the dead Incubator and resting in a clean, safe container.
He could leave now. Excellent work. Well done, Block, he could practically hear Mr. Wallace’s words in his memory cloud.
He strode out of the classroom door, and just as he turned the corner into the hallway, a surge of heat, flame, and gas erupted, knocking him onto his back.
Everything went dark.
6
“Get up, Block,” a man said, his voice familiar.
“Mr. Wallace?” He tried to raise up to a sitting position. He thought it must be time to exit recharge mode and get to work on cleaning the rooms of departed hotel guests. But as his visual display clicked on, the dim outline of a high ceiling emerged as water rained onto his faceplate. The spray came from above; sprinklers meant fire.
Threat Alert 8.
Block climbed to his feet, glancing down to check that all of his parts were intact. Then he remembered he was in a high school, not the Drake, and he’d been trying to leave when something had exploded in the hallway. Was the battle moving into the building?
Threat Alert 9. Fire Danger.
He sprinted down the corridor, despite a thickening cloud of smoke. The building was about to erupt in flames, and he had to escape.
The baby—still inside the classroom—shrieked.
He’d nearly reached the exit door—the hallway was clear, with no sign of SoldierBots or humans. If anyone was inside the building, they would hear the cries, too.
Any minute, someone would rescue the baby.
Wouldn’t they?
Block paused, one foot hovering over the doorstep that led outdoors. Once someone found the baby, the crying would stop.
A desperate wailing streamed through the hallway, the baby’s moans echoing across the abandoned lockers that lined the walls.
Had the child been injured in the explosion? Perhaps a piece of ceiling had fallen on the little human? Block wondered if he should check on it, but this could be his only chance to escape the high school undetected.
When in doubt, he summoned the various instruction manuals in his memory stores.
Protocol 861 - Fire emergency
Step 1 - Locate source of fire.
Step 2 - Extinguish fire.
Step 3 - Move humans to safety.
Step 4 - Summon fire department.
Skip Step 2 if humans are in imminent danger.
Crap. He needed to find the fire and extinguish it. He should’ve known. Luckily, he’d never faced a fire in the hotel; Mr. Wallace had followed safety protocols and held regular fire inspections.
Step one—locate source of fire. He supposed he should try. Mr. Wallace would want Block to follow the protocol, so what was stopping him? Death by war machines might be one important reason.
He backtracked down the wide hallway, scanning left and right through the thick smoke. His offensive odor register flashed:
Heavy Smoke Detected. 9.2/10 Odor. Risk to Human Respiratory Function.
The little human would be in trouble as soon as the smoke reached inside the classroom. Block stomped through the hall, past the classroom, to locate the fire source. Bright bursts of heat signals from his visor led him straight to it—a rectangular, wooden teacher’s desk was jammed into the doorway of a neighboring classroom, propping it open. Flames danced over the desk, singeing the ceiling and threatening to climb the walls.
He reached down, opened his thigh panel, and released the portable fire extinguisher all CleanerBot X4J6 models came equipped with. He aimed it at the desk and pressed the spray button, unleashing a thick cloud of white spray at the flames. After a minute, the soggy desk was doused, and Block glanced inside the room to see desks and chairs that were also on fire, as well as trash and books. The fire was so large, he wouldn’t be able to contain it with his one extinguisher. Had Mr. Wallace opted for the deluxe package, he would have had a spare in his other leg.
He replaced the spent extinguisher inside his thigh panel. Perhaps he’d refill it later.
So, he’d failed steps one and two. Well, on to step three—Move humans to safety. He checked up and down the hall. No sign of anyone; no biological heat readings. The only human presence was the child. He strode toward the classroom, danger alert flashing, until he saw the baby’s feet poking out from the drawer.
No debris had fallen on it!
He replaced the blanket, this time tucking it underneath the child so it wouldn’t kick out again.
The baby blinked. “Gah!” it said.
“Hello, again.” He didn’t know why he tried conversing with the child. Based on his knowledge of basic human development, he knew the child didn’t understand speech and wouldn’t until later in its life.
Tires screeched somewhere outside the building, close. The baby startled at the eruption of more gunfire and began shrieking. He tried to quiet it by using the finger trick again. But the infant eyed him, tipped its round head back, opened its tiny mouth, and screamed.
Now what? he thought. He searched his memory cloud from the hotel. He remembered seeing a lady in the lobby. When her child had cried, she’d lifted it fro
m its stroller and slightly rocked it.
The last thing he wanted was for the child to be frightened, despite the dangerous situation. He decided to replicate the mother’s behavior. Reaching down, he grabbed the child around the middle, under its shoulders, and raised it. Block held it out before him at chest height as its legs dangled.
“Quiet now,” he said.
But, for some reason, it stuffed its fist in its mouth and cried louder. He held it out in front of him with his right arm and, recalling the mother, curled his left arm into a curved pose much like that of the very first robots who had walked stiffly with bent arms. Placing the child in the crook of his elbow, his other arm then stabilized the baby’s legs. What an odd position, he thought. Human parents must get tired.
Still, the baby cried.
“I’m holding you! Stop screaming and wiggling.” Block worried the child’s shrieks would alert the humans and SoldierBots outside. Then he remembered the human mother had arched her hips so as to jiggle her baby. So, he paced the small floor of the classroom, bouncing up and down. It was a curious and unnatural movement for him. He used the coiled springs on the back of his hips and knees to simulate the bouncing. “My kind was certainly not meant to walk like this,” he muttered.
Something loud and heavy crashed in the outside hallway. Heavy stomping boots echoed. SoldierBots? If they found him with the dead Incubator and the baby in his arms, there was no telling their reaction.
Block stepped toward the drawer, planning to replace the baby inside and then hide. The SoldierBots might not even realize he was there. He cloaked his comms so they couldn’t ping him—an advanced feature that Mr. Wallace had selected in his package, explaining that it was a security upgrade.
He was five feet from the drawer when the SoldierBots began running at top speed through the hall—the heavy clatter of their boots growing louder. With no time to discard the now quiet baby, he rushed to the far corner of the room and wedged himself behind one of the tall bookcases—angled in such a way that the SoldierBots wouldn’t notice him unless they came looking. The baby gazed up at him with red, puffy eyes.
Steel Guardian Page 3
