Run Program

by Scott Meyer

  Montague said, “We have the gazebo, Lieutenant. We’ll lay down suppressing fire.”

  “Do you see the server?”

  “No, Lieutenant. There’s just some guy here.”

  “Jeffrey Madsen?”

  “No.”

  The rest of the squad advanced while Montague and Brady shot at any robot that moved. Only a few attempted it. Al, or whatever algorithm was directing their actions, seemed to have accepted that the cabana was lost, and the majority of the remaining robots kept the positions protecting the paths.

  As the squad approached, Hope saw the person the robots had been guarding. It looked as if he had been sitting in a beach chair, but now he was on his feet, crouching behind the chair. He was a little taller, and more than a little heavier, than average. His feet were bare, but a pair of canvas high-tops and white tube socks sat in the sand next to a small heap of rough-looking fabric. His hairy white legs were sheathed in khaki cargo shorts that rode below a gray T-shirt that read “Who watches the watchmen?” He had dark brown hair, combed straight down, and pasty white skin made even pastier by the coating of sunscreen he’d slathered on so generously that it had failed to soak in, making him look like a very sweaty French nobleman.

  Reyes turned to the man. “I’m Lieutenant Gabriel Reyes, US Army. What’s your name?”

  The man said, “Legally, I don’t have to tell you.”

  Reyes shrugged. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. How’d you get on this island?”

  “The A.I. brought me here.”

  Reyes asked, “Really?”

  The man said, “Yes.”

  Hope asked, “Why?”

  The man asked, “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  Hope said, “Legally I don’t have to tell you, or so I hear. Why did Al bring you here? Are you helping him?”

  “No. Never. In fact, I’m his greatest enemy.”

  Hope said, “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “If that’s true,” Reyes said, “I don’t see why he’d go to the trouble to bring you here.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” the man asked. “He thinks he’s beaten me, and he brought me here to gloat.”

  Hope said, “Really?” It didn’t exactly sound like Al, and this man had the unmistakable air of a lunatic.

  “Yes. Really. It’s a classic move! There’s no point in succeeding if you can’t gloat about it to someone. I should have expected it, in hindsight.”

  Brady said, “Hindsight! That’s the word I was looking for earlier!”

  The prerecorded voice announced, “T-minus ten minutes and counting.”

  “We’re running out of time,” Hope said.

  Reyes nodded. “Have you seen any other people on the island?” he asked the man.

  “Just the kid and his mom.”

  “And his mom? Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’d better call this in,” Lieutenant Reyes said, his hand moving to his radio’s controls, “then we need to get moving. HQ, this is Bravo Squad leader. We have found a civilian. No, ma’am, he refuses to give his name.”

  Reyes looked at the man expectantly, giving him a chance to reconsider. The man narrowed his eyes and lowered the pitch of his voice while increasing his volume. “Tell them that I’m called the Voice of Reason.”

  Reyes said, “Really?”

  “Yes!”

  Reyes said, “He says he’s called the Voice of Reason. Yeah, mostly by himself, I figure.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Yes. That’s what he said. You’ve heard of him, Mr. Torres? Interesting. Yes, that’s what I figured. Yes, ma’am, right away.”

  Reyes put his radio back in its belt pouch. “Nobody had heard of you except for the CEO of OffiSmart. He says he got a letter from you.”

  “Yes, the Voice of Reason speaks with action and ink, for they are the only permanent—”

  “Yeah, he says you’re some kind of nut, but he figured you were harmless.”

  “Shows what he knows.”

  “Yes, it does. Anyway, we have to get moving, Mister . . . Voice, so if you’ll please come with us, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Why would I go with you? Where are you going?”

  “To find and capture the A.I., then get off this rock.”

  “Oh,” the Voice of Reason said. “Okay. Count me in. Just let me put on my shoes and my duster.”

  Hope said, “A duster, in this heat?”

  The Voice of Reason said, “Yes. One must look one’s best when meeting one’s nemesis.” He reached down and lifted the duster, exposing a pair of black fingerless gloves lying on a lumpy messenger bag.

  48.

  Four members of Alpha Squad burst through the door of the commercial kitchen. Light streamed in, forming visible sheets that illuminated the dust in the air. The sounds of distant motors straining and miniature warheads detonating became louder. Two soldiers entered the room, their weapons pressed to their shoulders, ready to fire. The first soldier walked straight in, turned ninety degrees, and headed to the far corner of the room, maneuvering around long-dormant gas ranges and deep fryers, patches of stainless steel gleaming through a thin covering of moss and debris, scanning the area with the flashlight attached to his weapon. The second soldier entered directly behind him, but she continued straight ahead, moving toward the opposite corner of the room.

  The first soldier shouted, “Clear!”

  The second shouted, “Clear!”

  The first soldier kicked open a door, entered, spun around, and shouted, “Restroom! Clear!”

  He stepped out, then repeated the process with the next door down. “Storage room! Clear!”

  The second soldier had hauled a large stainless steel door open and entered the space beyond it. She scanned to one side, then the other, stooped to look under the empty metal shelves, kicked an empty plastic tub on the floor, then shouted, “Walk-in freezer! Clear!”

  The first soldier shouted, “All clear?”

  The second responded, “All clear!”

  The first soldier shouted back toward the door, “Doctor, the building is clear. You may enter.”

  Dr. Madsen looked around the corner of the door. “Why would I go in there? It’s clear. There’s nothing in there. We need to move on.”

  Captain Poole also looked into the room. Poole was the officer in charge of Alpha Squad and was also personally safeguarding Dr. Madsen, both because her expertise was vital to the mission and because he never asked his soldiers to do an unpleasant job that he wouldn’t do himself. “Ma’am,” he said, “you’re the expert. You should have a look in case there’s something the rest of us would miss.”

  Madsen said, “Apparently the rest of you missed the announcement that the missiles are going to launch in less than fifteen minutes. We’ve wasted at least three minutes shooting robots and poking around in a bunch of dilapidated huts. We don’t have time for this. I can see inside from here. I don’t see my son. I don’t see any computers. I don’t see any robots. Unless any of those things were in the bathroom or the freezer, we need to move on.”

  Captain Poole scowled at Madsen because he, and everybody else present, realized she was right. There was nothing more infuriating than when a person like Dr. Madsen was right. “Alpha Squad, report,” he called into his radio.

  A voice in their earpieces said, “We’ve cleared two more buildings. No sign of any objectives yet. Moving on.”

  Another voice said, “We’re holding the robots at bay, as ordered. We have enough ammo for a few more minutes. The damaged robots are piling up, making it harder for the others to get to us.”

  Captain Poole told everyone to keep up the good work, then glanced at the two soldiers present. “We’re moving on.”

  As they stepped away from the abandoned kitchen, Dr. Madsen risked a look around the side of the building.

  The compound they were searching had once been the base of operations for the small crew that had lived on the island full-time to keep it ready f
or the cruise passengers. The buildings included a dormitory, a kitchen, Spartan recreational facilities, a mechanic’s shop, several storage sheds, and a garage for the small fleet of bicycles and golf carts that were the island’s chief means of transportation. Footpaths connected the buildings and led to a single road, wide enough for one car or two lanes of golf carts, which led off into the thick jungle.

  Madsen could see the two soldiers Captain Poole had left to hold off the robots. They had disabled enough of them as they came up the road that the writhing, malfunctioning carcasses formed a roadblock, four feet high and at least ten feet across. The machines were designed to climb over obstacles, but these obstacles were moving—and grabbing at anything they could find with their creepy articulated-sausage fingers in an effort to pull themselves upright again. The dense trees and foliage on either side of the path slowed the progress of any robot trying to sneak around the side, allowing the missiles to find them well before they reached open ground.

  Madsen watched as a perfectly intact robot climbed to the top of the heap, only to be grabbed by several hands and pulled back down before it could make it over the crest. It was the stuff of nightmares, even before a missile struck the intact robot in the pelvis, dooming it to remain with the others in the squirming pile.

  The prerecorded voice called out, “T-minus ten minutes and counting.”

  Captain Poole ran ahead, through the middle of the remaining four buildings. He looked around, holding up a quieting hand.

  “What are you doing?” Madsen said.

  Captain Poole said, “Looking for anything that might mean a building is in use. We don’t have time to search building by building anymore, like you said.”

  He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I think I hear something.”

  “What?” Madsen asked. “What do you hear?”

  “Quiet, please. I’m trying to figure it out. It’s faint. A kind of low hum.”

  Madsen said, “It’s beyond me how you can hear anything over all that awful noise.”

  Captain Poole snapped his head up, stared at Dr. Madsen, and snarled, “I know, right?”

  He walked out into an intersection of two paths, moving between four of the small buildings, pointed, and said, “That one, over there, the shack on the end. It has an air conditioner running.”

  Madsen and the soldiers followed Poole to the back wall of the building. Now that she was listening for it, she could hear the low rumble of the cooling unit. As they reached the building, she could see why it was so loud. The building was about the size of a small house, and the AC unit was easily three times larger than needed. The condenser looked relatively new. The pipes connecting it to the building seemed to have been clumsily chosen and placed, but the welds tying them all together had been executed with mechanical precision. Next to the functioning AC unit, a smaller model lay discarded on its side, covered in moss and rust.

  Captain Poole crept around the side of the building. Dr. Madsen and the two soldiers followed. Poole peered into a window, then darted past it to stand beside a door. The two soldiers rushed to join him. He held up a hand, telling Madsen to stop. He needn’t have bothered. She had already stopped following him, and, per her standard operating procedures, would not move again until she heard “clear” shouted at least five times.

  The captain stepped away from the wall, faced the door, and gave it one sharp kick right next to the doorknob. It flew open. The two soldiers rushed in from behind him, weapons in firing position. Madsen listened for them to start shouting “clear.” Instead, she heard one soldier shout, “Hands where we can see them! Now!”

  Jeffrey said, “What?”

  Over the next several seconds, many things were shouted by many people, but aside from Jeffrey saying, “Mommy” as she entered the room, Madsen was oblivious to all of it. She hugged Jeffrey and cried the way people do when they’re overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. Jeffrey hugged her back and laughed the way people do when they are confused.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “Jeffrey, I’m just so happy to see you.”

  “I’m happy to see you too, Mommy. They said I wouldn’t be able to see you for another week.”

  “They?” Captain Poole asked. “Who’s ‘they’? Who told you that?”

  Jeffrey peeked out from inside his mother’s arms. “I’m sorry, sir. Who are you?”

  “They’re friends of Mommy’s, dear. They helped me rescue you.”

  Jeffrey said, “Rescue? I needed to be rescued?”

  “Of course you did, dear.”

  One of the soldiers said, “I’m not so sure.”

  Madsen turned to glare at the soldier, but in so doing she had her first real look around the inside of the building. The room had cool tile floors and tasteful, if boring, beige textured wallpaper with a palm leaf motif. Both looked as if they had been quite dirty at one time, but someone seemed to have gone to a great effort to clean them up. One corner of the room held a full kitchen, appointed with brand-new mismatched appliances. The furniture in the living area, like the appliances, all looked fresh from the showroom, and very expensive, but no two items went together. A leather couch sat next to a faux-1920s floor lamp and a hammered brass table with a Moroccan tile top. Posters of various superheroes hung around the walls, held in place with thumbtacks.

  Madsen took a good look at Jeffrey, and now that she was no longer blinded by gratitude to see him alive and healthy, she realized how well fed and well rested he looked. He had a deep tan, and the sun had bleached his hair slightly. He was sitting on the leather couch wearing nothing but swim trunks. A pair of sandy flip-flops sat on the floor nearby, and next to him on the couch he had a tablet displaying some sort of game Madsen was sure Hope could have identified.

  The recorded voice said, “T-minus nine minutes and counting.”

  Poole turned to the soldiers. “Check the other rooms; we have to keep moving.”

  Jeffrey pointed to a door at the far corner of the space. “Oh, don’t go in there.”

  The soldier kicked the door in. Instantly a female shriek rang out, followed by a torrent of fast, loud Spanish invective.

  Dr. Madsen let go of Jeffrey, quickly shifting from delight, straight through confusion, to rage. She took two steps to the side to gain a better view into the other room. The soldier was training his weapon on a woman who was on her knees, scrubbing the bathtub, wearing large rubber gloves and expensive over-the-ear headphones.

  Madsen shouted, “Fernanda!”

  Fernanda leapt to her feet. “Dr. Madsen! What are you doing here?” She whipped her right hand downward, sending her yellow rubber glove flying into the tub. She removed her headphones. Even over the distant sounds of the robots and missiles, and the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears, Madsen could hear the throbbing bass from the headphones.

  “What am I doing here?” Madsen asked. “I’m rescuing Jeffrey! What the hell are you doing here?!”

  Fernanda smiled viciously and stormed past the armed soldier, pushing his weapon away as she burst through the door and into the main room. “I’m taking care of Jeffrey, as usual.”

  Captain Poole asked, “Who is this woman?”

  Madsen said, “Jeffrey’s former nanny.”

  “Jeffrey’s current nanny,” Fernanda corrected her.

  “You’re working for Al!”

  “Yes! He hired me to take care of Jeffrey.”

  Captain Poole said, “A computer hired you, and that didn’t seem odd?”

  Fernanda said, “He hired me over the phone. Called himself Mr. Albert. He sent a private jet for me. I never saw the pilot, but you usually don’t, do you? It wasn’t until I got to the island that I realized that I was working for her fake person.” Fernanda jerked her head toward Madsen.

  “And you still went along with it?” Madsen said. “How could you?”

  “Would you rather I had refused and left Jeffrey alone here? Besides, Al spends more time talking to Jeffrey than you ever have,
and he pays me a lot better too.”

  Madsen scrunched her face in disgust. “Where is your loyalty?”

  “With Jeffrey,” Fernanda said. “All of it is with Jeffrey. I have no loyalty to you.”

  “After all I’ve done for you.”

  Fernanda said, “All you’ve done for me is paid me to do everything! You do nothing but sign checks and complain.”

  “I brought you into my home! I made you part of my family!”

  “Don’t pretend you cared about me. You never even checked to see if I was okay after the army came and took you and Jeffrey away.”

  The recorded voice interrupted again. “T-minus eight minutes and counting.”

  Captain Poole said, “We don’t have time for this. We need to move on to the next objective.”

  “I checked in,” Madsen sneered.

  “You e-mailed once to ask how much of the cleaning list you left me was done, then you e-mailed me a second time to tell me that I was being laid off.”

  “So that’s what this is. You’re working with Al because you’re angry with me.”

  “I’m working with Al because I want to make sure Jeffrey is safe, and because Al is paying me ten million dollars.”

  One of the soldiers coughed. Poole let out an impressed whistle.

  “So,” Madsen said, “you’ll do anything if you’re offered enough money, and it doesn’t matter how evil or destructive the person paying you is.”

  Fernanda said, “Don’t act surprised. I’ve been working for you for six years, haven’t I?”

  49.

  Bravo Squad arrived at the shockingly large steel building at the end of the runway and found Charlie Squad working on the hangar door mechanism. Hope thought they looked like ants trying to find a way into a box of Girl Scout cookies.

  Lieutenant Popov, the leader of Charlie Squad, nodded to Reyes and said, “Welcome to the party, Lieutenant. We’ve almost gained entry. The doors are designed to handle a rocket explosion, but we think we can get them open.”

  “Why not go in through a side door or something?” Lieutenant Reyes asked.

  “There are none. This is the only entry or exit. Guess robots don’t worry about OSHA regulations. Who’s the civilian?”