Run Program

by Scott Meyer

  He listened, then said, “I understand that. I’m not asking you to create trucks from thin air. Just tell your boss to call his boss and have them get ahold of the customer so we can get things moving.”

  After a moment, Ma Kuo shook his head. “No, I can’t make more room. The one thing Houndio can’t make is room. When this place is full, it’s full. Stacking products in any of the other areas will only make it harder to maneuver lifts and trucks, which will then make it harder to get the merchandise out of . . .”

  He trailed off midsentence, distracted by a noise he’d never heard before from the far end of the cavernous building, two hundred yards away. It sounded like multiple power tools turning on and off at random. He squinted into the distance. There appeared to be movement on one of the pallets. His first thought was that the pallet had been packed improperly and now the merchandise was falling off, but he realized that couldn’t be the case when the stack of products seemed to get . . . taller.

  He muttered, “Hold on a minute” into the phone and started running toward the noise.

  The sound just got louder, not only because he was getting closer but because a second pallet had started moving as well. The pile of merchandise emitted more of that horrible whining noise, then somehow gained over a foot in height. The product had inexplicably moved off the pallet. Ma Kuo saw a lot of motion, but he was still quite far away and running at full speed, so any real details eluded him.

  A worker drove a lift in, carrying another fresh pallet of goods, as they did every two minutes, like clockwork. The driver slammed on his brakes, nearly tipping his lift over in the process.

  Ma Kuo finally drew near enough, and the products finally gained enough distance from one another that he could make out what he was seeing. He staggered to a stop and blinked repeatedly at the sight of eight newly manufactured human-shaped robots stepping away from their empty pallets, moving out into the open. Ma Kuo looked at the lift driver, who shrugged at him.

  The two men said nothing as they watched the scene unfold, which was just as well. They wouldn’t have been able to hear each other over the echoing racket of the robots.

  Moving in unison, like perfectly choreographed dancers, the line of robots bent over at the waist, then bent their knees and rolled backward onto their rear ends. They stretched their legs out straight in front of their bodies. Their knees hyperextended, bending upward toward the ceiling.

  The robots went still, and the room went quiet for several seconds until a totally different-sounding set of electric motors kicked in and the robots rolled forward at high speed, moving on the tank treads built into their legs.

  The robots advanced in a line. Ma Kuo turned and ran for his life but slowed and then stopped when the robots zipped past him on either side. He watched in disbelief as the eight robots formed into a single-file line and rolled the length of the warehouse and out onto the loading ramp, exited the building, and disappeared into the distance. He could hear the whining of their motors long after they drove out of sight.

  Ma Kuo turned around and looked at the lift driver, who had expertly parked the fresh pallet where it was supposed to be. They made eye contact, and the driver shook his head in a way that sent the clear message that he didn’t want to discuss what they had just seen, now or ever.

  He became dimly aware of a distant, squawk-like noise. He realized that it was his phone. In all of the excitement, he’d forgotten that he was in the middle of a call.

  He lifted the receiver to his ear and said, “Yes, I’m here. The problem just got a little less urgent, but I still want trucks here as soon as possible!”

  Kirk leapt up from his chair the instant he heard the door open. His shift at the server farm in The Dalles was finally nearing an end. He pushed his favorite office chair aside, sending it rolling across the linoleum until it parked under a workstation on the far wall. It wasn’t a particularly impressive trick, but Kirk had practiced it for over an hour anyway, just to have something to do.

  Leo said, “Good morning.”

  Kirk looked to the door. “Leo? You had the evening shift yesterday. How’d you get stuck working a close-open?”

  “I asked for it. Switched with John. My girlfriend has a thing and she wants me to come along.”

  “Wait, when did you get a girlfriend? How did you get a girlfriend?”

  Leo grabbed his preferred chair from the workstation where he’d stowed it only eight hours earlier. “I’m glad you asked. It’s kind of a long story, but—”

  “Then never mind,” Kirk said. “Save it for the next time I relieve you. That way you can slow yourself down on the way out the door, not me.”

  “Wait,” Leo said.

  Kirk was already halfway to the door, but he stopped and asked, “What?”

  Leo gestured toward the data screen they were both paid to monitor. “You have to fill me in. What’s happened in the last eight hours?”

  “Nothing interesting,” Kirk said, slowly backing toward the door. “That new client has taken over a bunch more servers, but it’s all good. The details are in the log.”

  “Okay. Cool. Oh, Kirk?”

  Kirk stopped. “What?”

  “Have a good day.”

  “Thanks. Later.”

  “Kirk?”

  “What?!”

  Leo smiled. “What are you hanging around here for? You should go home.”

  Kirk muttered something under his breath and reached for the door handle. The instant before he touched it, an alarm sounded throughout the building, followed by a recording of a stern male voice saying that the facility had suffered a security breach and was on lockdown until further notice.

  Leo picked up the phone and called security. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

  He listened, nodded, put the heel of his hand over the mouthpiece, and told Kirk, “We’re on lockdown.”

  Kirk said, “Tell them I’m leaving.”

  “You can’t. Lockdown.”

  “Then tell them I already left.”

  “Won’t work. They keep track of who comes in and out. They know you’re still here.”

  “Then tell them I hate them.”

  Leo removed his hand from the receiver and said, “Kirk hates you. Yeah. Yeah, he is. So, what’s going on? Okay. Thanks.”

  Leo hung up the phone, then crossed the room and turned on a flat-screen monitor that was attached to the wall instead of a PC. “They say some sort of military vehicle got through the main gate.” The monitor snapped to life, displaying a grid of six feeds from various security cameras throughout the complex. Leo slid his finger across the screen, swapping the feeds with the transmissions from different six cameras. He did it again to look at another six, and there it was—a grainy image of some sort of armored military vehicle rolling down the main drive toward the server farm, illuminated only by the streetlights in the predawn dark.

  Leo and Kirk both pulled up chairs and watched as the vehicle turned and drove alongside the front of the building.

  “What are they doing?” Leo asked.

  “I don’t know. They’re heading away from the main entrance, out to the ass-end of the compound. There’s nothing over there but the airstrip.”

  With some effort Leo managed to switch the camera feeds every time the vehicle rolled out of frame. He and Kirk watched as it slowed to a stop in a pool of light near the end of the runway. The driver’s-side door opened, as did a large door on the back. Shadowy figures spilled out and walked around the vehicle.

  “There are a bunch of them,” Leo said.

  “They’re walking funny.”

  “Maybe it was a long drive,” Leo said. “I don’t see any guns.”

  Kirk asked, “What are they doing?”

  “How should I know? Maybe they’re waiting for a plane.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about anyone from corporate coming in this week.”

  “Well, if they’re making a surprise visit, I doubt it’s a good thing that soldie
rs, or mercenaries, or whatever are waiting for them.”

  “I don’t know,” Kirk said. “Depends on who corporate sent.”

  “It’s still too dark to land a plane. The strip has no lights.”

  As they watched, a private jet taxied into view and slowed to a stop. It didn’t have any of the markings of a member of the corporate fleet. The figures moved toward the plane as its hatch swung open. Another figure, walking in the same odd manner, stepped down out of the plane and handed one of the others what was unmistakably an assault rifle. The others lined up. Some got assault rifles. Some got hunting rifles. At least one got a shotgun.

  Leo said, “You’re always complaining about how boring this place is. This should be a welcome change.”

  Kirk said, “I’ll admit, interesting things are happening, but I’m still sitting in this room, watching them happen on a monitor.”

  27.

  The perimeter guard stood under a light pole at the very edge of the server farm parking lot, looking down the unlit access road to the private airstrip. He put his hand on his holster and shouted, “You are trespassing on private property. Stop where you are and put down your weapons.”

  The trespassers, visible to him only as silhouettes, illuminated from behind by lights near the runway, continued to walk toward him. In fairness, he wasn’t sure they could hear him over the cacophony of whining electric motors. He didn’t know what was making the noise, but it was something the intruders were carrying with them, so he was certain it wasn’t good.

  He shouted, “Stop where you are! Throw down your weapons and put your hands over your heads!” He got the same negligible result. The intruders weren’t walking very fast, but they also weren’t stopping. The horrendous noise grew louder with each step they took.

  He drew his weapon, a semiautomatic pistol, and aimed it at the shadowy figures as he started walking backward, closer to his golf cart. “Step into the light and drop your weapons!”

  The figures grew more distinct as they approached the edge of the floodlit parking lot. The guard staggered back a few more steps and then stopped, momentarily transfixed by the sight of seven robots carrying various firearms.

  The guard shouted, “Freeze!”

  The robots continued advancing, and while they didn’t have their weapons in firing position, they also didn’t make any move to put them down.

  “I said freeze,” the guard shouted. “If you don’t comply, I will be forced to shoot!”

  The robots advanced.

  The guard shouted, “Final warning,” but by this time he could barely hear himself over the whine emanating from the robots.

  They were only twenty feet away. The guard swallowed, aimed for the center mass of one of the robots, and fired. He heard a loud bang, felt the weapon kick, and saw a small spark as his bullet struck the robot’s armor plating. The robot itself didn’t seem to hear, feel, or see anything, and it continued its advance as if nothing had happened.

  The guard said, “Crap!” He blinked, looked to the right and left, searching in vain for some cover to dive behind. His feet were ready for action, but since he saw no place to run or leap to, he essentially danced in place for several seconds, saying, “Crap crap crap crap crap!”

  He looked at the robots again, now ten feet away and still advancing.

  He shouted, “Crap,” as he sprinted back for the golf cart. He threw himself into the driver’s seat and floored it, pulling away from the robots, driving toward the building’s entrance at a little over twenty miles per hour.

  He looked at the robots receding in the rearview mirror, then pulled his radio from its belt clip and pressed the talk button.

  “Crap! We’re being attacked! They came in by plane and some kind of armored truck.”

  A voice on the radio said, “Yeah, I know all that, Steve. I saw the truck drive past my booth and I watched the plane land. Do you have any new information?”

  “I counted seven perpetrators approaching the server farm on foot. They are armed. And they’re robots!”

  The booth guard said, “What?!”

  “Robots, Art! They’re robots!”

  “No. That’s just dumb. They must be wearing masks or something.”

  “Art, I’m telling you, they’re robots. I shot one and the bullet bounced right off.”

  “It’s just some dude in body armor, Steve, you idiot.”

  “They aren’t wearing armor; they’re made of armor. The only one I saw wearing anything had on a sweatshirt.”

  “A sweatshirt?”

  “Yeah, it said, ‘I’m the Mo . . .’ You know what, it’s not important. We have seven armed intruders headed toward the building. You need to lock down the gate, grab your shotgun, and get over here.”

  Steve drove the golf cart up onto the sidewalk and steered it across the decorative plaza in front of the server building’s main entryway.

  Art asked, “You’re sure they’re armed?”

  “Yes!”

  “We aren’t equipped for this! I’ll go get help.”

  “Negative! Call the police and then fall back to the lobby. We have to try to hold them off.”

  “I’ve got my car right here, Steve. I can be at the police department in five minutes.”

  “You can call them in five seconds! Fall back to the lobby.”

  “Steve, they pay me enough to get me to sit in this shack all night, watching videos on my phone. They don’t pay me nearly enough to get me to fall back to the lobby. Especially if they’re robots. I’ll send help.”

  Steve leapt from the golf cart without bothering to stop first. He ran a few awkward steps as he decelerated, trying not to fall face-first to the pavement. The cart rolled past the door.

  He looked to the guard shack in the distance. The lights were already turned off. A set of red taillights flared to life, immediately moved around the far side of the shack, and receded down the driveway.

  “Crap!” Steve shouted.

  He looked back in the direction he’d come from. The whine of the robots’ motors was less pronounced, but it remained audible despite the fact that the robots were easily a hundred and fifty yards away.

  He turned and sprinted toward the building.

  From a distance the primary server building resembled a large, featureless box. The main entrance was a rectangle of glass doors and windows. Steve tried to open the doors but found them locked. He pulled his company ID away from his belt, stretching the spring-loaded cord far enough to reach the sensor plate. The plate beeped and displayed a green light. He pushed on the door and still found it locked.

  Steve pounded on the glass as hard as he could.

  Inside the darkened lobby, someone popped up from behind the security counter. The figure—it had to be Dot, the on-duty lobby guard—vaulted over the counter and ran to the door, fumbling with a huge cluster of keys as she came. She unlocked the dead bolt and let him in.

  “Thanks, Dot,” Steve said. “Art ran for it.”

  Dot relocked the mechanical dead bolt. “Yeah, I heard. Thing is, I was trying to call the cops while you two were talking, and I couldn’t get through.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, so it’s a good thing that he went in person. He doesn’t know that, though. He was just trying to save his own skin. Did you mean it when you said they were robots?”

  “Listen,” Steve said, gesturing toward the door.

  They both stood still and held their breath.

  “You hear it?” Steve asked.

  Dot said, “Yeah. How close are they?”

  Steve jogged across the lobby, heading behind the reception counter. “Still like a football field away.”

  Dot listened to the noise again, then asked, “That far?”

  “Yes. I said they were robots. I didn’t say they were quiet.” Steve ducked down behind the counter and out of sight.

  “So what do we do?”

  Though she couldn’t see Steve, she heard his voice say, “I’m alre
ady doing it.”

  Dot ran behind the counter and crouched down next to Steve. They both checked their weapons.

  “Where’s everybody else?” Steve asked.

  “Fred and Billy were walking their beats back in the server room. They’re holding tight in case the intruders get that far. The night geeks were in the middle of a shift change, so two of them are locked up in the nerve center.”

  “Cool.”

  Dot said, “You counted seven of them. Is that total?”

  “That’s what I saw. Could be more back at the plane for all I know.”

  “What do they look like? Are they like little cars or metal spiders or something?”

  “No. They walk on two legs, like us.”

  “Could you tell if they have built-in machine guns?”

  “They were carrying rifles.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Mostly assault rifles, but I saw one shotgun.”

  “And you’re sure they aren’t just people in costumes.”

  “People walk better. Plus, people don’t sound like that.” He pointed out toward the windows. The sound was much louder now.

  “Glass doors,” Steve said. “What’s the point of a lock on a glass door? It doesn’t stop the intruder, and after you get robbed, you have to pay for a new door. If anything, it makes robbery easier for the thief and more painful for the victim.”

  Dot nodded. “The lobby and the glass doors are just here to look pretty for visitors. The rest of this place is hard, ugly, and indestructible.”

  Steve knew she was right. Every door out of the lobby was reinforced steel set into concrete. All of the security doors were sealed. “True, the robots won’t get far without a key card.”

  They crouched in the dark, listening to the sound of motors and gears approaching. It grew louder each second. It almost came as a relief when the sound abruptly stopped.