Nanobot Warriors
Part 5 of the
Sleep Writer Journal
© 2019 Keith Robinson
Published by Unearthly Tales
on March 29, 2019
Cover by Keith Robinson
No part of this book may be reproduced without permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
COMING NEXT
Author's Website
Chapter 1
As Liam hurtled through the wormhole, a sense of déjà vu hit him. No, more than that—the very real feeling he’d actually been here before. He tried to spin around, certain he was being watched by someone just behind him, but maneuverability was nigh impossible considering his high-velocity weightlessness.
Still, he knew. He’d witnessed this very scene when he’d used the time wand. He’d visited a few places in his near future: first his house in the aftermath of the wonderstorm attack, then Madison’s bedroom when she’d asked the two boys to witness her sleep writing, and this moment right now, wearing some kind of armor as he sped through a wormhole.
He sighed inwardly. Easy mistake to make. It’s not a suit of armor at all. I’m a robot.
Given that he’d already seen what was going to happen next, he braced himself just as a circle of light rapidly expanded ahead. As the wormhole ended, he shot out into broad daylight and landed with a splash on the muddy bank of a river.
He grunted at the impact, more of an instinctive reaction than anything. He felt no pain at all. It was like being cushioned by a three-foot-thick roll of bubble wrap as he slammed into the mud. He flailed like an upturned bug as he tried to sit up, and the curious sense that he was being watched—by none other than himself—quickly faded.
Other people stood nearby. He spun to face them, climbing to his feet and allowing mud and water to slide and drip off his plastic casing.
Five of them. Five robots like him, only they were not like him at all. The Ark Lord had infected his victims with different schematics, and now Liam was one of six unique robots clustered together on the soggy riverbank.
“Looks like we got ourselves a Runner,” one said in a booming voice.
Liam wasn’t sure who had spoken. He wished they were equipped with voice-activated bulbs like the Daleks from Doctor Who, but instead, five orange-tinted faceplates of varying sizes stared impassively at him as the robots chimed in with their appraisals.
“Says here he’s number twelve in the utility range,” another deep, male voice said. “There are thirteen in total. Another seven and we’ll have the whole set.”
“He could be handy,” a female voice said. “Maybe he can outrun them.”
“Agreed. Runners are infinitely tireless and fast.”
“Huh. That means he’s the most likely of us to run away when things gets dangerous,” the first booming voice grumbled.
“Yeah, what else can he do without weapons like these?”
A heavily armed robot stood up straight and posed with hands on hips, showing off thick forearms with inset missile tubes, and gun barrels projecting from bulky shoulders.
Like Liam, all these robots had the same grey-colored, shiny-plastic finish along with orange-tinted faceplates and other minor details, obviously spawned from the same manufacturer. His gaze flitted from one to the next, taking in their varying forms—one half his size and very thin, the second a hulking giant with massive iron fists, the third just as big but bristling with weapons, another with an oversized, blockish hump behind its shoulders so it looked like a built-in hiker’s backpack, and the last bent almost double and glancing shiftily from side to side.
The one with the backpack stamped closer, squelching in mud. “I’m Medic,” came the female voice again. This robotized figure looked no more female than the others, yet somehow she carried herself in a feminine way despite her heavy load. “At least that’s my classification. My real name is—”
“No names,” the one with massive iron fists barked, banging them together and creating a shower of sparks. “We talked about this. Stick to monickers. I don’t want to know any of you personally.”
Medic sighed and turned her head toward Liam again. “Okay, well, I’m Medic. I guess we’ll call you Runner, then. The one with the fists is Hammer. The small, skinny one is Optics. The giant armed to the teeth is Armory. Pretty obvious, right? Whoever named this range of robots could do with some help in the imagination department.”
Liam found his voice. “And what about him?” he said, pointing to the creepy one, who was still glancing in every direction.
“Stealth? She can find us a way in. Then Hammer and Armory will lead the way with Optics giving directions.”
“And you? Are you here in case one of us is injured?”
“Not exactly.” She turned so he could inspect her backpack. To his surprise, a square panel opened with a hiss, revealing a sizeable compartment illuminated in blue. “For transporting organs,” she said. “It fills with the appropriate cooling fluids.”
To demonstrate, she cradled a pretend organ in her hands. Then she raised her arms up over her head, keeping her elbows bent. Like a double-jointed circus performer, she continued pushing her arms back past her head until they were upside down behind her, well beyond normal human limits. At the same time, she twisted her hands around to keep her pretend organ safely upright and popped it into the chamber. The door hissed shut, and Liam heard the sound of gurgling liquid from within.
“And you do that a lot?” he asked with some distaste. “Carry body parts around?”
She chuckled. “Not personally. This particular robot class does, though. It’s also used in rescue operations. Apart from administering first aid and painkillers, it’s useful if a victim has a severed limb or something.”
Liam tried to imagine an entire leg fitting inside the chamber. A tight squeeze!
As everyone stared at him in silence, he nervously asked, “And what about me? What am I supposed to do?”
Medic spread her hands. “You’re a Runner. You run.”
“Where to?”
The hammer-fisted giant stomped closer. “We’ll find out when we get there. You might have a use, and you might not. It doesn’t matter as long as we get the job done.”
“Did you listen to the final briefing?” Medic asked.
Liam’s head was beginning to spin. All these robots talking at once, badgering him while he was still trying to absorb his surroundings and digest the information that had downloaded into his brain . . . “Let me play it again,” he muttered, turning away from the group to make it clear he didn’t want to be interrupted.
Someone—the grumpy one with giant-sized iron fists—said, “Well, don’t take all day. The king won’t sleep forever.”
“The Runner only just got here,” Medic said. “Give him a moment.”
Trying to shut out the babble of voices, Liam suddenly realized he could turn down the volume of the outside world. Delighted, he muted the sound and stood in absolute silence, staring at the muddy riverbank that climbed the slopes to dry, grassy land. He couldn’t see much beyond that.
He replayed the downloaded briefing. If he focused properly, he could see text streaming across the back of the visor in front of his eyes, a visual readout of what the Ark Lord was booming in his head . . .
URGENT. The Gorvian time grubs have taken shelter in
an abandoned layover. This is the perfect time, my invincible warriors. These creatures are nearly always on the move, swarming from place to place, perpetually on high alert as they crowd around their slow-moving king. Except that right now they’ve settled so the king can rejuvenate. In the wide open plains of Gorvia, shelters are few and far between, so this is a rare opportunity. If you’re to reach the king at the heart of the swarm, it has to be while he’s sleeping and relatively vulnerable.
Infiltrate the swarm, my fearless warriors. Take the king’s head while he rests. Without their king, the swarm will disperse. And when you bring me that head, then I will reverse the nanotech and free you.
Don’t forget, brave ones, that your robot blood enhances your abilities but in no way protects you from the deadly lash of a time grub’s tongue. However, go forward knowing that you all live to a ripe old age and will make it through this mission safely no matter what. In that sense, you are indeed invincible.
Now go. The swarm has congregated in and around a cluster of buildings somewhere close to your present location.
Abruptly, the message ended. Liam tapped the side of his head as a silence fell. When he looked up and refocused, he saw some of the other robot warriors sidling into view, their words low and muffled. He mentally adjusted the volume back up.
“. . . stand around here all day,” the iron-fisted monster was complaining. He slammed them together, and sparks flew. “You’re late arriving and the last to get your head in gear. And you’re a Runner? Aren’t you supposed to be all about speed?”
Flustered, Liam peered around the group as they came together. “I’m . . . I’m not used to this sort of thing. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
A barked laughter emanated from Armory as he leaned backward and jutted his gun barrels skyward. “Like the rest of us are any different! None of us are warriors. We just don’t want to stand around whining. Personally, I’m ready for battle.”
Medic snorted. “Of course you are. Look at you, armed to the teeth. I’ll bet you’d be happy to stay as a robot forever.”
“Sure beats my day job,” Armory muttered.
Liam had so many questions on his mind. Who were these people? Where did they come from? They spoke like humans from Earth, and their robot form—two arms and two legs—suggested their real selves might be equally bipedal rather than floating gas creatures or multi-tentacled slime blobs. And the Ark Lord had once been human, too. Or if not human, then certainly humanoid.
“Let’s move out,” Hammer ordered, again smashing his fists together. He seemed to enjoy the resounding clang they made. Though similar to Liam in form, he was taller and bulkier. His oversized clenched fists made him look like a caricature of a boxer, though the effect was ruined when he splayed and flexed his powerful fingers.
The small robot named Optics and the creepy, skinny one named Stealth shuffled after Hammer without question. Armory stomped alongside, picking up the pace and taking the lead as they headed out of the mud and up the grassy slope. On Liam’s internal display screen, a simple digital compass indicated the group was headed north.
Only Medic remained with him. “You okay?” she asked.
Liam shrugged. “I guess. We’re only going to attack a swarm of deadly monsters that can kill with one touch, and we just have to cut off the head of their leader. Easy, right?”
Medic tilted her head. “So they have sarcasm on Earth? That’s good to know. I wasn’t sure your people were, you know . . . smart enough.”
“So you’re not from Earth?”
Her melodic robot laugh filled the air. “No, thank goodness! That would be like . . .” She paused a moment. “It would be like you going back in time a few decades and trying to get by without your mobile phones and internet.”
Liam frowned—or frowned inwardly, anyway. He doubted his impassive faceplate and respirator revealed any emotion. “So if you’re not from Earth, how do you know about our mobile phones and internet?”
“Everyone in the universe has mobile phones and internet. We just call them different things. Besides, we’ve been watching you for a long time.”
More questions flooded his mind. “But—I mean, why? Where are you from? How come you—”
“Not now, Runner,” Medic said, glancing over her shoulder. “The others are getting away from us. You shouldn’t have any trouble catching up, but I will with this weighty equipment on my back.”
Liam reluctantly agreed to head up the grassy slope to the top of the hill.
He dreaded what he’d find on the other side.
Chapter 2
The six of them stood in a line on the crest of the hill, silent and thoughtful as they studied the tiny cluster of buildings in the distance. They couldn’t be more than thirty minutes’ walk away.
Liam wondered why the wormhole hadn’t dumped the robot assassins a bit closer. Heck, it could have deposited them in the heart of the town where the king of the grubs was sleeping. The Ark Lord had demonstrated his knack for pinpointing destinations with the snatch-and-grab in Liam’s bedroom, so why hadn’t he been a little more accurate here?
The most probable answer popped into Liam’s head: Because he’d homed in on the translator tech in my chest. That’s how he found me at Ant’s house, too. But here . . .
When it came to the Gorvian time grubs, the Ark Lord had no signal to pick up on. He’d winged it, and it couldn’t have been easy zeroing in on a miniscule target on the surface of a planet. He’d done well, all things considered.
“Anything?” Armory asked, nudging the small robot standing next to him.
The one named Optics shook his head and spoke in a quavering voice. “We’re too far out. I’m seeing a mass of life forms, but they’re all jammed together like one big shapeless blob. I’m not seeing the king. He might be there, but I can’t tell for sure.”
“So we get closer,” Hammer said, predictably clanging his knuckles together. “Come on. I want to get home to my new girlfriend. We have our second date tonight.”
“You probably should have postponed it,” Medic told him.
“Nah, we’ll be in and out in no time as long as you bunch of . . . pansies quit standing around gawking.”
Liam noticed a slight delay before the word ‘pansies,’ which at first he put down to Hammer choosing his insult carefully. He also noticed a background stream of gibberish somewhere deep within his head a split second before the insult was hurled, like a burst of static interrupting a train of thought.
“Yeah,” Armory agreed simply.
For a second, Armory and Hammer shared a sideways glance. A couple of jocks, Liam thought in disgust. Meatheads. They can’t wait to rush in and get killed.
Giving Optics a resounding slap on the shoulder, Armory headed down the grassy slope toward the town, followed closely by Hammer. The two vied for the lead, stomping over boulders and splashing down in puddles.
Stealth, as silent as ever, whirled around and sloped off in a slightly different direction, disappearing among dry, scrubby bushes and occasional stands of trees.
Liam and Medic started down the hill with Optics. “How’s it going?” Liam asked, thinking that the smaller robot boy might actually be more nervous than himself.
Optics said nothing.
“Where are you from?” Medic asked him.
With a sigh, Optics flung his hands out in a helpless shrug. “Does it matter? I’m just glad to be away from it all.”
“You’re glad to be here?” Liam said with surprise.
“Not here. Just away from where I was.”
“And that was where?” Medic pressed.
Optics shot her a look. “Nosy, aren’t you?”
With that, he put on some speed and marched ahead.
“Nice,” Liam said. He shook his head, bothered by something. “What I don’t understand is how human you all sound. The stuff you say, the way you say it—it’s like talking to other kids at school. Are you sure you’re not human? You’re
not yanking my chain, are you?”
“Yanking your chain?” Medic repeated.
“It means—”
“I know what it means. That’s what translators are for.”
They continued trudging across rocks and through patches of long grass as Liam thought about the alien device embedded in his chest. Presumably it was still there despite the complete nanobot workover. “So you’re saying my translator doesn’t just translate your words, it kind of makes you sound human as well?”
“It presents us to you in a way your brain can understand,” Medic clarified.
The word ‘pansies’ popped into his mind. So Armory hadn’t used that word at all. He’d used something entirely different, an insult unique to his own language, and the translator had deftly sought a suitable alternative. Clever.
After a pause, Liam tentatively asked, “So . . . are you at least human-ish?”
“I’m bellogari,” she said rather tersely. “My world is Glochania, about three times the size of Earth and one-half water. I’m a swim instructor. And no, I’m not remotely human-ish. Well, I do have two legs and two arms, but I also have a tail and submersible wings, and I find it terrifying that I’m now restricted to land for the duration of this mission. I can’t fly, and I doubt this mechanical form can float, so I’ve lost the ability to swim as well.”
Liam was dumbstruck.
Medic’s tone softened. “Hammer is a mograbyte, pretty much all muscle and no brain. Armory is a khrelavlon, but he’s also yammish and therefore shouldn’t be so gung-ho and eager with his weaponry. It’s not befitting his culture.”
Yammish, Liam thought, trying to keep up. What the heck is that? Some kind of religion?
“Optics is a bit of a mystery,” Medic went on. “He doesn’t say much. Stealth is a kobvanathi from Bloobol VI. She mentioned something about military training, so she might be the most qualified of us.”
“Quiet back there!” Hammer snapped from in front, his head swiveling. “We’re a ways out yet, but if you keep jabbering away like that, they’ll hear us coming.”
“Right,” Liam said, unable to resist a burst of sarcasm, “because they couldn’t possibly see us walking toward them in plain view across the fields, the sun shining off our plastic heads and—”
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