Rebirth (Archives of Humanity Book 1)

by Justin DePaoli

  She glanced at her wounds. “Broken glass tends to do that. It’s just superficial.” She scanned the room. “This isn’t what I expected to find.”

  Leon grunted an agreement.

  Orissa’s brief forays into underground labs had given her the perhaps false impression that they were all anonymous caverns of glass rooms filled with miscellaneous scientific equipment without a sense of character.

  This laboratory, however, had character. Too much, maybe.

  A welcome desk carved from red oak stood in the lobby, atop which several screens lay inset. Holographic menus spiraled up from each screen, containing various information and directions.

  Glass shelves were anchored into the sweeping walls, and within each was a piece of technology developed by RayTech, described briefly and poetically with placards.

  Much as she wanted to drink in all of this history, she and Leon had to move. They had limited time before the Wharhound returned to full functionality and scrubbed Droll from its system. Approximately thirty minutes, according to the drone.

  There was just one problem.

  “I can’t find stairs,” said Leon.

  The lobby seemed to have only three exits: the main doors and two elevators.

  “They must have stairs,” said Orissa.

  “Maybe, but probably visitors can’t access them. Easy way to seal off the building in case of containment leaks.” He wandered over to an elevator.

  Something buzzed by Orissa’s ear. “Droll,” she said, happier to see the little drone than she ever thought possible.

  “I have detected two—”

  Leon smashed the down button—the only one there was.

  The doors snapped open instantly and a robot stepped out.

  “Jesus!” cried Leon, jumping back. He aimed his rifle at the Machine. It was of human shape, complete with fake eyes, a nose, and a creepy smiling mouth. Its metal exterior had been painted silver.

  “The RayTech laboratory in the Blue Ridge Mountains is currently… closed. If you would like to be notified when we will reopen, please see the assistance menu at the welcome desk. Thank you and have a pleasant day.”

  The Machine backstepped into the elevator.

  “Wait,” said Leon. The robot had its hand extended, ready to close the doors. “Come—come back out.”

  “The RayTech laboratory in the Blue Ridge Mountains is currently—”

  The robot crumbled. Droll whizzed into the elevator. “Virtual intelligence,” he said, “without anti-viral capabilities is not intelligent at all.”

  Orissa lifted a brow at Leon as she walked past and into the elevator.

  “All right,” Leon conceded, “he’s useful at times.”

  “Sixteen floors,” said Orissa, looking at the call buttons.

  “Sixteenth is a good bet,” said Leon. “Bottommost floor is always where you find all the goodies. Although, hmm. What’s this?” He touched a spot beneath button sixteen. It was a quarter-sized circle slightly discolored from the rest of the panel.

  Droll darted to the button panel like a hummingbird to a feeder, hovering in place. “There are two keyholes. One is for elevator control. The other…” He produced a tool from one of his compartments and slid it inside the second keyhole, twisting and turning the end until it fit inside.

  Click.

  A tiny door flipped open beneath the sixteenth button, revealing a seventeenth.

  “You’re invaluable, Droll,” Orissa said, patting his shell.

  “A floor accessible only by those who have the right key,” murmured Leon. “That’s got to be where the EMP shield is.”

  If it’s here, thought Orissa. Doubts had been proliferating since she stepped foot in the lab. That was a weakness of hers; her doubts and worries were always inverse to the distance of her goal. The closer it was, the more she believed she wouldn’t reach it.

  Maybe everyone was like that and the thing that separated the doers from the wishers was an intangible fortitude to press on no matter what.

  No. Matter. What.

  She drew in a heavy breath and pressed button seventeen. The elevator doors shut silently and instantly. The drop was so smooth that had it not been for the buttons lighting up as they passed each floor, Orissa wouldn’t have known they were moving.

  “How’s that Wharhound?” Leon asked.

  “Slow to return to functionality,” answered Droll. “It is beginning to process and parse more information, however. I suspect it will detect my intrusion and scrub me within twenty minutes.”

  Orissa crunched the numbers in her head. If it took them five minutes to find the shield and five minutes to get back to the Helrider, that gave them ten to spare. She assumed that second number would be static, unless there was a labyrinth of hallways and rooms to comb through, but finding the shield could take significantly longer than five minutes.

  If they approached their time limit, what then? Did they peel back and flee?

  No. Her mother had come—and likely died—for this technology. And Leon was right—if there was even the slightest chance that humanity could be reborn, that opportunity would wither without the shield in their possession.

  “How long after the Wharhound establishes connection with the Machine Network can we expect reinforcements?” Leon asked.

  “Within two minutes,” said Droll.

  “Any chance we can shake them?”

  “If they come in ships, which they will, I do not see that as a feasible possibility.”

  Leon grimaced. The last button on the panel lit up. The elevator dinged and the doors opened.

  Orissa stared down the barrels of four rifles.

  “These hallways have been declared unsafe for human passage,” announced a robot in likeness to the one Droll disabled. The only difference was its armored plating and the gun it carried. “Please proceed to room… all rooms are filled.”

  Orissa cleared her throat, hand around the grip of her submachine gun. She didn’t dare move it. Not yet. “Droll…”

  “These Machines are slightly more advanced. They cannot be easily rendered inoperable. I’ve never encountered architecture like this.”

  The Machine in the lead position stepped toward Orissa. “Please proceed to… all rooms are filled. This is your final warning. Further refusal will be met with forced containment.”

  “You’re taking too long, Droll,” said Leon.

  He snapped his rifle up and blasted a hole clean through the Machine’s head. Before Orissa could take aim, he’d downed the second, third, and fourth bots as well.

  “Let’s move out,” he said, stepping up onto and over a metal corpse.

  “I believe,” said Droll, “there is a word for your actions. It’s called being a showoff.”

  Leon made no retort. He was in the zone. Focused, engrossed.

  Orissa walked the corridor, its walls wavy with violet light. More character, she supposed. Two doors lay flush with the walls at the end of the corridor, barely recognizable but for the narrow outlines of the doorframes.

  There was no handle to pull, so Orissa gave a push, but the doors didn’t budge.

  Leon tapped a keyhole she hadn’t noticed. “Droll, do you work.”

  The drone picked the lock within seconds. Following the familiar click heard in the elevator, compartments opened within the doors and a panel emerged.

  “Handprint reader,” said Leon.

  Orissa flattened her hand on the glass panel. Red lasers traced the outline of her print. The reader rejected her with an angry beep.

  “Droll,” she said, “can you hack this?”

  “No. Biometric readers were among the most highly developed pieces of technology during the human era. Even specialized Machines, such as Slicers, have extreme difficulty in cracking them.”

  Orissa slapped the wall. “Fuck. We don’t have time for—what are you doing?”

  Leon’s hand was at her waist. He flicked the grenade hanging from her belt. “You’ve got a solar
grenade and we’ve been in the sun a fair bit.”

  “This door is going to be reinforced to withstand a grenade. Even a maximized solar grenade.”

  “Doctor Servoni is correct. My scan reveals triple-reinforced titanium alloyed with chromium. However, there is an oversight in this design.” The drone hovered near the ceiling. “A thin margin is not reinforced.”

  Leon snapped his fingers. “There’s our in.”

  “The detonation will need to occur at this margin,” said Droll. “The blast will be contained otherwise. Also, there is a chance this entire hallway will cave in.”

  “There’s a greater chance we’re screwed if we don’t get this EMP shield,” Leon noted. “Orissa, you still have that tape in your backpack?”

  Under normal circumstances, she might have looked at him suspiciously and asked why. But every second she stalled was another second they lost to the Wharhound. She’d have to trust him.

  Trust. One of the uglier words to speak, or think, no matter the language. The assumption it conferred made Orissa uncomfortable.

  Leon unwound a thin strip of old black tape, tearing it in two. He stuck one piece on his index finger and another on his middle, then asked for the solar grenade.

  Loathe to give her weapons away, Orissa handed it to him with gritted teeth. However, her misgivings quickly turned to respect. Leon was on his tiptoes, one hand holding the grenade against the margin identified by Droll. With his other, he taped the grenade in place.

  It’s a good thing he’s tall, Orissa thought. And smart.

  “To the end of the hall,” Leon ordered. Orissa and Droll obeyed without argument. She had no intention of being blown into an unidentifiable mess of limbs and bone, and Droll didn’t seem a suicidal Machine himself.

  “On the count of three,” said Leon. “One—” He pulled the grenade pin and bolted toward Orissa, head kept low.

  Orissa plugged her ears, counting silently to herself. When she reached seven, the grenade would explode. So long as it wasn’t a dud. What misfortune that’d be.

  She got to six when Leon made it to her. At seven, the grenade detonated.

  The brilliant flash burned her eyes. She felt the crackling explosion from her toes to her skull. When the smoke cleared, the vault doors still stood in their entirety but for a gap at the top. The grenade had cleared not only the margin, but also a fair chunk of the ceiling, but the space that led directly into the vault was far too small for either her or Leon to fit through.

  Droll had already assumed the role of fetcher drone. He piloted himself up and into the vault.

  “Watch this damn thing have the density of a dying star,” said Leon.

  “It didn’t seem too heavy from the video,” Orissa noted. “Ivan lifted it easily enough.”

  “True. Mm. Your cynicism is rubbing off on me.”

  The sound of a shuttering lens preceded Droll’s reappearance. In his projected arm, he held a sphere sheathed in plated armor. Embedded in the center was a circular eye that glowed the color of azure.

  “Aesthetics or function?” Leon wondered.

  “Why not both?” said Orissa. Droll offered her the shield. You were right, Mom. Thank God. She took it in one hand and, resisting the urge to turn it over, examined it closely. There’d be time for that later. Right now, they had to race back to the Helrider. She stuffed the shield snug in her backpack and jogged for the elevator.

  Droll called after her. “Doctor Servoni, there has been an incident.”

  She stopped dead. “What kind of incident?”

  “Twelve Machines have connected to the Machine Network since we’ve been in this facility. Their positioning mirrored the Wharhound’s. I believe they were in stasis with it. There are Machine ships awaiting outside, numbering in the dozens.”

  Still Orissa hadn’t turned to face that drone. She wasn’t sure she could move.

  “Major General Imus, Doctor Servoni—with permission, I will execute a decision that may save your lives.” The drone’s eye shuttered. “To put it in terms you may prefer… I have an idea.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Droll revealed his plan, Leon had two thoughts.

  First, it was never going to work. Second, how long had the drone known about the dozen Machines who’d connected to the Machine Network and called for reinforcements? Given that Machine-piloted ships were already patrolling the skies, this wasn’t a sudden development.

  But it seemed he’d have to worry about the drone’s concerning independence after they escaped with their lives.

  Or as Orissa was likely thinking, if.

  They stood in the elevator, sharing an uncomfortable silence.

  “How will you signal us?” Orissa asked.

  “I will land near the entrance,” answered Droll. “Machine Friggs are—”

  Leon silenced the drone with a hand gesture. “What are Friggs?”

  “Machine aircraft. Larger than their Valedall cousins, but capable of impressive speeds and agility nonetheless. Friggs are likely named after the Norse goddess and wife of Odin. The aircraft is equipped with plasma deflectors which shield against the energy total of one hundred plasma cartridges from a standard rifle. Those deflectors will not last long under an onslaught, but it should be enough time for you and Leon to board. Be quick.”

  That was the plan: for Droll to hack into and seize control of a Machine Frigg. Meanwhile, Leon and Orissa would keep hidden in the lobby and pray that the Machines didn’t know two former Rogue Hunters were inside the lab.

  Droll seemed to think it was possible for them to remain out of sight. Machines occasionally awoke from stases without reason; it was entirely possible that once the reinforcements determined no foul play, they would depart. But there was no telling if the Wharhound would stick around, or if it’d fall into another stasis and block their exit.

  “Doctor Servoni, Major General Imus. Are you ready?”

  Orissa sighed, clutching her submachine gun in one hand. Her belt was restocked with grenades, lock-on knives and three extra plasma cartridges. “Ready as I’ll be,” she said, pushing call button one.

  Leon tapped either side of his belt, a habit he’d developed to ensure he was well-equipped. He had thermal and plasma grenades, one of each, and two lock-on knives. Neither he nor Orissa had any remaining plasma cartridges mixed with neuromlyx acid, so if a Prime decided to waltz into the lab… well, that was an unfortunate thought he chose to ignore for now.

  Leon clenched and unclenched the rubber grip of his rifle. It was as good of a stress ball as he’d get right now.

  We’re getting closer, he reminded himself. Closer to a resolution. To learning the truth about what happened to humanity, if it could be saved. If the humans of yesteryear hadn’t pieced together the Governor, Leon and Orissa would pick up from where they left off, protected by the electromagnetic pulse shield.

  And they’d free whatever humans were to be used by the Machines as Rogue Hunters, assuming the Machines weren’t simply creating humans in test tubes. Leon crushed that thought and discarded it. Humans—real humans born from a womb—still existed, somewhere. Somehow.

  The elevator dinged. Doors opened. The lavish lobby greeted Leon as he stepped out, one foot still in the elevator as a picture of war emerged.

  The woodland outside crawled with Machines, and angular Friggs patrolled the skies in slow, circular formations.

  It was the quaking of the lab that frightened Leon most of all, however. The Wharhound moved with laggard strides, each step of his four-hundred-foot-tall leg cratering the earth.

  That damn thing will bring this whole facility down just by walking around, he thought.

  “I will see you soon, Major General Imus and Doctor Servoni,” said Droll. He drifted lazily through the lobby, before whooshing high into the air outside. The Machines on the ground never noticed him.

  Leon and Orissa took refuge behind the welcome desk, peering out overtop.

  “This is a trap,” she sai
d.

  “What?”

  She sunk, back against the desk. “A disturbed Wharhound, broken glass leading into the lab, tire tracks outside. There’s every reason for those Machines to inspect this lab. So why are they patrolling like rote bots incapable of critical thought?”

  Leon didn’t have an answer for that. Any hopeful words would sound like romantic optimism—that was the worst kind. It was good to have hope in times of darkness, but to outright ignore the shadows was dangerous.

  Orissa was right. They’d left behind perfectly laid breadcrumbs for the Machines to follow, yet they weren’t doing so.

  They were waiting.

  They don’t want to kill us, Leon thought. They want to capture us. A ball of cotton formed in his throat. He’d sooner turn his rifle on himself than go back to the Machines. A dreadful thought, to be sure, but that was a possibility he had to be ready for.

  The Machines aren’t planning on the drone, he told himself. That was their big break. Their stroke of luck.

  He took stock of the lobby, not having much time to do so before. The glass shelves containing sundry pieces of technology, most of which were alien. Two in particular caught his eye. The first was a model ship equipped with what appeared to be a dorsal fin. He squinted, reading the placard.

  The Skymmer

  We have seen more of the moon than our oceans. Until now. The Skymmer belongs to RayTech’s Hypersonic Warcraft line. Powered by twin mylosynicide engines, it is our fastest aircraft yet and our most technologically advanced. Capable of diving to depths of four hundred and fifty meters, the Skymmer can submerse itself in ocean waters indefinitely.

  Sounds like a fairytale, thought Leon. But an impressive one. Directly behind the welcome desk was the second item which intrigued Leon. It showcased a long silver tube with a rubber grip. Protruding from the opening in the front was a rocket head.

  Sophisticated Intelligence Launcher

  Constructed entirely of lithium, RayTech’s Sophisticated Intelligence Launcher (SOL) marks a dramatic departure from shoulder-fired rocket launchers. Weighing only two pounds and guided by RayTech’s Artificial Intelligence Network, SOL chooses highest priority targets. Its payload can be further enhanced with injection of combustibles through RayTech’s Tube Payload system in the nosecone.