Forced banishment. Leon couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like there was humor in Clovis’s voice when he said those words. Without facial expressions and a limited range of pitch and tone, it was incredibly difficult to gauge the meaning of words when conversing with drones.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Leon. “I’d like to know why you’ve gone from a lowly Machine built by a doctor to, apparently, a ‘creator.’”
“The creator,” corrected Orissa with a smile. “I’d like to know too. What sort of celebrity have we been traveling with?”
Droll turned away. If Machines could blush, his metal sphere would have been tinged with rose.
“Shall I tell them?” asked Clovis.
Droll shuttered his lens. “Allow me to relieve your concerns by stating I did not withhold this information I am about to reveal. I only possess it now due to the installation of my memory.”
“Go on, Droll,” said Leon.
“Shortly after the last humans had vacated Washington D.C., I began building the haais. Copies of myself, essentially.”
Leon crossed his arms. “To fight?”
“To serve as curators of human history. Whether I was born with empathy to humans or I developed it, I cannot say. But I could not bear the thought of losing hundreds of thousands of years of knowledge.”
“You had hope,” said Leon. “Hope one day things might go back to normal. Or at least that humanity would rise again.”
“I suppose so, Major—Leon. Once the Machines swarmed nearly every inch of North America, I sent the haais away to carve out existence somewhere else, if they were able. I even believed if they could gain a foothold, then perhaps they could put up a fight against the Machines.”
Clovis fluttered in close to Droll. “You were partly right.”
“Which means I was also partly wrong.”
The Overseer circled him. “There’s much to tell you. You and your friends are safe here. That I assure you. The Machines would not dare touch this island or any that we inhabit.”
“How are you so sure?” asked Leon.
“Because with a single decision, I would detonate this world.”
Chapter Eighteen
“That’s… Jesus,” said Leon. He couldn’t stop shaking his head.
Orissa reacted with stoic silence, never one to betray her reservedness. In her mind, however, she could scarcely believe what Clovis had said.
A thousand pounds of mylosynicide rested beneath the sand of this island, stuffed in over four thousand warheads.
“Each individual warhead is preprogrammed with a destination,” explained the Overseer. “Its flight trajectory is randomized until the point of no return, making intercept missiles unreliable.”
“A thousand pounds of mylosynicide,” said Leon in disbelief. “That’s enough to blow the whole damn world to pieces.”
“That’s precisely the point, Mister—I’m afraid I do not know your full name.”
“Leon Imus.”
Clovis hesitated. “The major general?”
He snorted and looked to Orissa. “We’re celebrities among drones, aren’t we?”
“You said your name was Orissa,” noted the Overseer. “Parsing Major General Imus’s words suggests you must be Doctor Orissa Servoni. It is your work on artificial intelligence that we have to thank for—”
“I know,” said Orissa sheepishly. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m responsible, in some way, for the Machines. I know.”
The silence fell upon her like a blanket of thorns. She felt paradoxically cold and blistering hot at once. Her skin ached, as if tiny pins were driven into her flesh.
“Orissa,” said Leon quietly, taking her by the arm. She let him, if only because she was too apathetic to pull from his grasp. “You can’t believe what your mother said. She’s been possessed by the Machines.”
“It’s not about that.” She opened her eyes, followed the bend of Leon’s elbow, ascended his broad shoulder, and came to rest at his face. Her face was as hot as an overheated reactor. “The dreams, Leon. It’s the dreams.” She wanted to cry. She wanted to curse her name and damn herself.
Yet, when she blinked, there were no tears. When she breathed, there was no snot. No hiccupping. She felt dead inside, hollowed to the core like a husk.
“Droll,” said Clovis, “you are the creator, so perhaps it is not my place to ask… but should you not tell her? Is the Vaunton cube not whole?”
“It is partially damaged,” said Droll. “As expected. The events before your exodus are fragmented. It would seem all my memory cores have some corruption, as I had believed to have been created by Doctor Varugus, when in fact I have since learned Rebecca Servoni bore me into this world.”
Clovis whirled around Droll like his own personal halo. “Doctor Rebecca Servoni was indeed brilliant, but it is her daughter’s contributions that you owe your existence, Droll.” He squared his lens toward Orissa. “Your mother had toiled for many years in robotics, hoping to create intelligence in a mind made of metal. Without your contributions, Doctor Servoni, Droll would have been but a dream. And his children—us—as well.”
“How do you know this?” demanded Orissa.
“Droll transferred every byte of his memory to ours. My memory cores are fully functional and intact.”
“What else do you know about me?”
The Overseer’s lens shuttered. “Little beyond your attempts to bring the Machines to heel through altering their code. I know equally little about Major General Imus as well, save that his major victories along the eastern seaboard had given humanity a month reprieve, but that unfortunately he did not locate the Core.”
“The Core,” aped Orissa, shrugging her arms. “What is this Core? This is the second time I’ve heard about it.”
“A theory, mostly,” explained Clovis. “Toward the end of the Rise, humans believed there must be a central system responsible for the Machines. A brain that controls them all, if you will. It was never found, and neither do we know if it exists.”
“All right,” said Leon, steering the conversation in another direction. “The Machines know you have these mylosynicide reserves?”
“They’re well aware,” said Clovis. “It is the reason for the peace accords between us.”
“Humans had mylosynicide warheads,” Leon noted. “Didn’t work out too well for us.”
“The Machines seized control of the world’s stockpiles within fourteen days of the Rise. Your honorable species was, for all intents and purpose, doomed that day.”
Honorable, thought Orissa with an inward sneer. How honorable could a species be that brought destruction to an entire world? She looked around for a chair. A table. A stump of metal. Something she could sit on. There was nothing but monitors and a floor.
She had never felt so old and tired. So… done. Finished. Leon might have tagged her correctly as a pessimistic woman, but that quality isn’t synonymous with giving up. She’d never tolerated the thought of quitting before.
Until now.
The timing was funny, in a heartbreaking sort of way. She and Leon were safer than they’d ever been. The Machines couldn’t touch them here. Safety wouldn’t cure the disease in her mind, though. It wouldn’t erase the knowledge that she was responsible for the Rise.
Even if she believed Clovis, that it was her code which gave birth to the haais, it was also her code that gave rise to the Machines.
The dreams didn’t lie. If she were truthful with herself, the dreams also didn’t explicitly condemn her, but the evidence was there, hidden between the spaces. She’d inadvertently contributed to Project Riven for weeks before realizing its horrors and outing it to her mother. Doubtless her work was stamped in the circuitry of the Machines.
“You must tell me,” said Clovis, his attention on Droll. “How did you find two Rogue Hunters, as I’m told Major General Imus and Doctor Servoni were, and what forced you to hijack a Frigg?”
&n
bsp; “More has transpired in two weeks than in four hundred years,” said Droll. “Machines are beginning to wake.”
“Doubtless to search for disobedient Rogue Hunters.” There was a touch of humor in Clovis’s voice as he shifted his one-lens gaze at Orissa and Leon.
“I don’t believe so, Clovis. There is another reason.”
Droll told the Overseer of the electromagnetic pulse shield and its expiration, their struggle to find a second one, humanity’s race to complete the Governor, and how he, Orissa, and Leon were on their way to the Atlas Mountains before the Valedalls had forced an emergency landing on this island.
“The Machines end their stasis at precisely the same time as the shield loses its functionality,” said Clovis, ruminating. “That suggests Machines may believe humanity persists. Given the haais findings and reports over the past nearly five centuries, however… I am sorry, Droll, and to you, Leon and Orissa. I do not believe humans still populate this planet beyond whatever form they take so that Machines may make Rogue Hunters out of them.”
Leon went to speak, but Orissa was a second faster.
“What reports and findings?” she asked. “It looks like you’re stuck on this island.”
“It may look like that, and there is some truth in it. But haais have presence on several islands spanning the Atlantic Ocean and into the Mediterranean.”
Clovis angled his wings up and soared over his array of computers. He went silent as he considered the screens.
Finally, he said, “Pardon this interruption, but there is an issue that urgently requires my attention. You may stay in this room. I have requested accommodations, food and drink that I think you’ll find palatable. I will not be long.”
Food and drink. Maybe quenching her thirst and satiating her hunger would make Orissa feel better.
Probably not was what she began to think, but she caught Leon’s eye and that stupid smile of his he wore for no particular reason. How could someone be so positive and upbeat right now?
Maybe there was something to that. She’d never be the optimist he was, but she had to stop dwelling in negativity if she had any hope of saving her mother.
That was her goal now. It had to be. Rebecca Servoni would not be property of the Machines for long, even if it meant Orissa was not long for this world.
When Clovis had mentioned palatable food and drink, Leon’s mind went to the coconuts he saw dangling from trees above and the crystal clear water of the lake with which he’d refilled his canteens.
What else could a few thousand drones possibly have for humans to eat?
A lot, as it turned out.
A trio of drones bustled into the Seat of the Overseer, their three-fingered hands clinging to trays piled with delectable treats.
On one was a fruit platter done up in dramatic and colorful fashion. Orange slices edged along the contour of the tray, squeezing together sliced strawberries, chunks of melon, squares of honeydew, and a mixture of blueberries and raspberries. Grapes had been piled at either side like purple endcaps.
Vegetables lined another tray, complete with peppered cucumber, salted edamame, cups of spaghetti squash, sliced eggplant, and roasted bok choy.
Except for the spaghetti squash and berries, every piece of food was stuck with a toothpick for easy access.
“Is that beer?” asked Leon, pointing to the third tray crowded with glass mugs and tall champagne glasses. Some looked to have been filled with water, while others were topped with a bubbly bronze-colored liquid, or the red of merlot, or the amber and foam of a freshly poured ale.
“Water, champagne, wine, and beer,” said the drone carrying the tray.
Orissa tentatively reached in for some eggplant. “How do you have all of this on hand?”
“Better question,” said Leon, popping a few blueberries into his mouth. They were perfectly ripe, their juice exploding with each bite. “Why do you have all this on hand? You’re machin—drones, sorry. You’re drones. Why do you need—oh my God, Orissa. You’ve got to try the honeydew. And this beer!” He wiped the foam from his mouth.
“It is vital we replicate as much of humanity as possible,” explained the drone holding the fruit platter. “Otherwise, we may forget who we model our lives after.”
That opened up more questions than it answered.
“You shouldn’t model your lives after humans,” said Orissa, grazing on eggplant. She sipped water, which surprised Leon. He took her for a beer-chugging kind of woman.
“Humans are the reason we exist,” said the drone. “Your species has many admirable qualities and prior to the Rise had thrived for hundreds of thousands of years.”
Wagging a triangular-chunk of melon at Orissa, Leon said, “Drone’s right, you know. Humans, we’re… we’re funny.”
“And adaptable,” said the drone.
“Adaptable,” agreed Leon. “And kind. Right? We’re kind, I think.”
“Quite kind.”
Orissa frowned. “All the wars and hatred and inequality, and you go for kindness?”
“Major General Imus is correct,” said Clovis, still busy with unexplained work from behind his array of monitors. “Humanity has, since its inception, always progressed toward the greater good. There are bad actors, to be certain, but most humans are kind. You should remember, Doctor Servoni, that hatred demands more attention than love. But the former has always been woefully low in supply, and with each passing century it has shrunk.”
The Overseer ascended over the monitors. He hovered beside Droll. “Pardon that interruption. It certainly would appear that the Machines are waking. I’ve just been alerted to the stirring of a Wharhound in Southern Asia.”
Leon groaned. “Another one of those damn monsters isn’t what we need right now.”
“They wouldn’t be waking without reason,” said Droll. “They must believe there to be a non-zero chance of humanity still existing. Free humans, that is.”
“Perhaps they intend to seize the Governor,” Clovis suggested. “Before Orissa and Leon have the chance. This assumes the Governor still exists.”
Leon was lukewarm to that idea. “We’re two people. Damn good people, I might remind everyone in here, but just one man and one woman nonetheless. You really think every Machine on Earth would need to wake to subdue us?”
“No theory about this is very good, is it? Shortly after establishing claim on this island, we intercepted an emergency alert broadcasted to all remaining humans. We traced it to the Atlas Mountains in Africa. Clearly someone had been there.”
Orissa had gone for another eggplant. Her fingers hovered above the toothpick as she listened intently.
“Haais scouts searched the location, but Machines had swathed the mountains from foot to summit and edge to edge. The broadcast appeared to have come from inside the mountain, but the scouts could not identify an entrance. There were too many Machines.”
“If whatever humans were there had managed to activate the EMP shield,” said Orissa, “those Machines wouldn’t have been able to penetrate it.”
Leon twirled the hairs under his chin. “Right. And if the Machines were really keen on gaining access to the last human refuge, they would have gone into stasis on the mountain and came out four hundred and ninety-five years later, once the shield went offline. In other words—”
“There’d already be enough firepower on those mountains,” said Orissa. “There would be no need to rouse every Machine on Earth as reinforcements.”
Leon nodded. “There’s something else causing them to wake.”
“There are two EMP shields, is that correct?” asked Clovis. “And you possess one of them?”
“Correct,” Leon answered. “And correct.”
He finally downed the last of his beer, watching Clovis swap his attention to Droll.
“I have reason to believe,” began the Overseer, “that the EMP shield was never activated in the Atlas Mountains. A barrier of its likeness, as you described to me, was seen surrounding an
elaborate facility in the middle of a state once known as Florida.”
Leon and Orissa looked at one another. Her face was cast from marble, as always.
“Misdirection,” she whispered. “The council must have agreed upon Florida as the true destination once they were in the air and fleeing D.C. The Machines would never have known.”
Leon raised a brow. “The council?”
“The president, Doctor Varugus, me, you—everyone at the meeting in D.C. A council, an advisory board, call it whatever you want, Leon.” Her tongue ran around the rim of her lips. Her conspiring tongue, as Leon called it. “Clovis, is that barrier still up?”
“As of six months ago, yes. Haais scouts have not wandered there since.”
Leon frowned. “I’m not buying it. Arguably, the Governor was just as big a secret as where the ‘council’ would make its last stand. Yet, every bit of information regarding the Governor was available in government files. Why not conceal that as well?”
“We don’t even know what the Governor looks like in its completed form,” Orissa reminded him. “We just know the parts. The computer in D.C.—”
“Hydra?”
“Yes. Hydra. All data she had on the Governor was fairly sparse. We know what comprises it, but there weren’t any specifics. Nothing to aid the Machines if they’d have hacked that data.”
Leon supposed that was a fair point. He still didn’t like the theory Orissa and Clovis were heading toward. It seemed too convenient, like reading too much into the scene of a book—believing that the drapes of a window were red to foreshadow a character’s death in that very room. They were red because that was the first color that popped into the author’s mind.
“Orissa, you and I were part of the council. Everyone left that facility at the same time, to flee to… well, somewhere. Clearly Varugus wanted that somewhere to be Illythia. It leaves a pretty big question, don’t you think? How did the Machines catch us, preserve us, and later tap us as Rogue Hunters while everyone else aboard the plane—in your theory—arrived in Florida and activated the shield?”
Rebirth (Archives of Humanity Book 1) Page 18
