Fire and people. Armed with guns, armed with clubs, armed with actual honest-to-goodness pitchforks. Some of them are facing off with others.
I lean forward. “Turn around,” I say. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Good idea, thanks,” my father says. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. He turns around, but the mob is spreading out, and there are people behind us.
Siobhan lets out a string of curse words, and I realize I may be the only person in the car who has ever prepared in any way for something like this.
“Come on,” I say, the last of the tears leaving my voice. “Leave the car and follow me. Trust me. I’ve trained for this. And we need to get out of here now.”
40
• Steph •
Can Can Wonderland is in an industrial park—the amusement park is inside a big building that used to be a factory that made soup cans. When it started, it was mostly just an artist-designed mini-golf course, but it’s changed hands several times and now it’s an elaborate indoor amusement park staffed mostly by robots.
Rachel pulls into the parking lot, and we sit there for a minute. It’s open; we can see people going in, and an impatient parent with a screaming child coming out. “Are we really going in there?” Glenys asks.
“You can totally wait in the car, if you want,” I say. “Maybe Mimi could stay with you.”
Both Glenys and Mimi glare at me. “I’m staying with you,” Glenys says.
“Cat, if we run into Rajiv and he tries to keep us from leaving, do you think you can get us out?” I ask.
“Yes,” CheshireCat says. They don’t elaborate on how.
“I’m going in to look around,” I say, and everyone else follows me out of the car.
We are welcomed by a greeter robot. “Welcome, humans,” it intones as it swings the door open. Its voice sounds distinctly like the one CheshireCat uses, which worries me—I’m afraid it’ll give Glenys and my grandmother ideas.
Immediately past the greeter robot is a stage with red closed curtains and a prominent coin slot. My grandmother digs out a quarter and plugs it in. Instantly, the red curtains are drawn aside, revealing two human-shaped robots with jointed bodies and long, fluffy skirts, and a third that started out human-shaped but has now been set up with two extra sets of arms and is playing a banjo, a harmonica—which it plays with a bellows—castanets, cymbals, and a shaker of bells. The one-man-band robot starts playing a fast, cheery song that was the background music for more than a few Fast Girls Detective Agency chase scenes (more often the ones that took place on, say, electric scooters instead of in actual cars), and the other two robots do an energetic dance to it that involves a bunch of skirt swishing.
“It’s a pun,” CheshireCat tells me. “They’re doing the cancan. Because this used to be a factory that made cans.”
Farther in, there is in fact a robot that makes cans; it takes circles of aluminum, bends them into a cup shape, and then stretches the cup shape into an actual can. We start encountering mobile robots a minute later. There’s one mopping the floor, which is normal enough, but right behind it is a robot with about twenty arms, using four to walk and the rest to hold drinks. People place orders verbally, and it fetches their drinks from the bar. Another wandering robot will dispense a tiny plastic toy if you give it a quarter, but you have to actually hand it the quarter. There’s a set of robots that look like the horse equivalents of my doglike robot giving people rides around the perimeter of the room, and there’s a robot mixing drinks in the bar.
I mean, I had a class taught by a robot and I’ve ridden in self-driving cars plenty of times, but I still stop and stare at the multiarmed drink-serving robot. It’s simultaneously extremely cool and extremely creepy.
My phone buzzes with a text, either because it’s loud in here and hard to hear or because there’s something CheshireCat doesn’t want to say out loud.
I believe that the other AI is controlling many, if not all, of these robots.
How can you tell? I ask.
The drink-serving robot just dropped a drink to catch someone who’d tripped.
If you need to take them over to protect us, can you?
That’s my plan if Rajiv tries to stop you from leaving.
“Right,” I say out loud. “If my mother is here, where is she likely to be?”
“Probably not in the actual amusement park,” Rachel says.
“There is an entrance to an office suite at the south end of the building,” CheshireCat says. “Rajiv’s phone location suggests he’s somewhere in the amusement park at the moment and not in the offices.”
It’s a weekday afternoon, but there are a lot of people here. We make our way through the crowd in the direction CheshireCat gave for the office entrance, passing the roller coaster, which is coming to a stop. WELCOME TO THE SPACE GARDEN, reads a neon sign over the entry point. The roller coaster is designed to look kind of like a vintage rocket ship. I pause for a minute to look up at the rail overhead, at the glowing flowers and moving stars that surround the track.
“Welcome to Wonderland,” a voice says behind us.
I turn. It’s Rajiv, with a robot on either side of him. They’re like large-dog-size versions of the robots CheshireCat keeps buying, four-limbed with a head that turns into a tool. Glenys is staring at them with real alarm, and Rajiv says, “Fall back. These are friends.” The two robots back up four steps, moving in perfect unison.
“So,” Rajiv says, when none of us speaks. “Would you prefer to talk in my office, or to step into the bar?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t drink,” I say.
“We have a lovely selection of craft mocktails I would be delighted to show you,” he says. “And if you feel safer in a crowd than alone with me, I imagine you’ll be more comfortable.”
* * *
My drink has bubbles like bubble tea, but glowing.
Glenys looks genuinely alarmed. “Are you sure you should drink that?” she whispers. “Isn’t this the guy you think kidnapped your mother?”
Given that this was served up from behind the bar (by yet another robot), either the drinks are safe, or he keeps lethal ingredients on hand for occasional poisonings. That’s enough of a possibility that I stir the drink but don’t actually drink it. My grandmother orders a martini but doesn’t drink any of hers, either.
“I’ll have a Coke,” Bryony says, “but I want it in an unopened can.”
“I literally have a robot that makes soda cans,” Rajiv says. “You passed it on your way in. If I wanted to poison you with soda, I could definitely hand you something that looked like a perfectly ordinary can of brand-name soda.”
“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I mean, you came here—worrying about your drinks seems absurd. I didn’t kidnap your mother, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t know where she is. This has been true for most of the last twelve years, so I can’t say it surprises me.”
“So are you responsible for the Catacombs and the Mischief Elves and all the rest?”
“I don’t micromanage my staff,” Rajiv says. “Including the AI. It has assignments. It’s working on them.”
“How did you wind up with an amusement park?”
“You have your AI friend, I have mine. Have you considered asking yours to buy you an amusement park? It just might.”
“Why were you so intent on getting me in here?”
“Your mother was one of my best friends, before Michael turned on both of us. I am trying to keep you safe as the world gets increasingly dangerous.” He raises one hand, snaps his fingers, and the TV above the bar switches on.
There’s a reporter standing in front of a fire, and I realize after a second that they’re showing downtown Minneapolis and using the word riots. Glenys grabs my wrist and squeezes. “That’s where Nell is,” she whispers.
“We’re not staying here,” I say, putting my glowing drink back on the bar.
“If there are people you want brought here, I would be happy to accommodate,” Rajiv says. “Nell? Her family? I can have them here in an hour.”
I look him in the face. “I’m not staying here without my mother.”
“I’d be more than happy to bring her here, if you can figure out where she is.”
If he had her, I’m pretty sure he’d at least hint about it, since he’s trying to convince me to stay. So we’re done here. I look around at Mimi, Glenys, Rachel, and Bryony. “Let’s go,” I say.
The bar area isn’t enclosed, but when I turn to leave, the multi-limbed server robots have all rolled up to the edge, surrounding us. “Hear me out,” Rajiv says. “I have a lovely shelter full of abundant supplies to wait out a period of civil disorder, and a fleet of robots—these are only a handful—to use for self-protection. And to protect a select group of friends.”
“Like the Abiding Remnant, Brother Malachi?” Glenys asks, her voice shaking.
He squints and says, “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yes,” Glenys says. “It’s me.”
“The Abiding Remnant’s purpose is foot soldiers,” he says. “Shock troops for the battles of the Tribulation. There’s a reason I’m here, not there.” He starts to turn away, then thinks of something and adds, “Your younger siblings are on their way to the compound. They’ll be fine.”
“What do you mean by ‘a fleet of robots’?” I ask.
“The great thing about an amusement park is that it makes a lot of noise, and if you want to refit part of the former factory into an actual factory and ship in parts and machinery to manufacture robots, people take ‘I’m working on new features for my amusement park’ at face value,” Rajiv says. “I’d be happy to give you a tour of the secondary facility in a day or two. It’ll be nice to have some human friends to see it.”
I think about what it would be like to be shut up here with CheshireCat as my only companion. When he says AI friend, does he really mean that the AI is his friend, the way CheshireCat is mine? Or is he using the AI, the way Rajiv and my father used my mother’s brilliance and skills years ago for their project?
“I’ve heard you out,” I say, “and I wouldn’t wait out a bad rainstorm with you. We’re leaving.” I stare hard at the robots that are blocking our path, and a second later, they shut down and drop to the floor—CheshireCat’s doing.
“Let’s go,” I say, and everyone—including Rajiv—follows me as I head to the nearest exit.
“It’s starting!” Rajiv calls after us. “Don’t expect it to stop!”
Glenys, next to me, flinches so hard I can feel it through my coat, and her fear makes me feel like I had better be brave, no matter how much this is freaking me out. “I fought my father,” I say, turning back for a second. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”
“He’s trying to delay you,” CheshireCat says from my pocket. “I recommend taking the fire door straight ahead.”
It’s one of those “alarm will sound” doors, but I decide CheshireCat is giving us good advice, and I push the bar to set off the alarm and let us out. Outside, I can see that one of the bland-looking adjacent buildings with garage doors is opening up, and a line of robots is emerging. They’re not cute little mini robots like CheshireCat keeps buying; they’re not dog-size, like the ones Rajiv had escorting him around the park. The first robots are reared up on wheels that look almost like back wheels, nimbly balanced with four top limbs that have gripper ends. They’re speeding toward us, but then they stop and flop limply onto their faces. “I sent them all the command to reboot,” CheshireCat says. “But you probably want to get to your car quickly. There are bigger ones still in the warehouse.”
“Does Rajiv have a robot army?” I ask as we run to Rachel’s car.
“Seems to, yes. Stored next door. Built from stolen designs.”
Another set of robots emerges from the warehouse. They look like the twelve-limbed drink-serving robots, but elephant-size. They scuttle toward us, but collapse onto splayed limbs halfway toward us. “The ones in the back have a different security protocol,” CheshireCat says.
“Does that mean you won’t be able to shut them down?”
“Possibly.”
“Okay,” I say. The car’s in sight. “Rachel, can you let Mimi drive?” Rachel hands her the keys without arguing. We pile in, and Mimi starts the car.
The final cadre of robots has emerged from the warehouse. These look almost like tanks, with rolling treadmill things at the base instead of wheels, but they’re much faster than I picture tanks, and they’re not heading for us—they’re heading for the exits that lead out of the parking lot, and then settling in to block them. Even if CheshireCat can shut them down, they’ll be blocking our way out.
I was expecting Mimi to speed to the exit, but they’ve beaten us there. Mimi seems unperturbed; she drives demurely toward them, then swerves abruptly to the side and floors the accelerator. There is one parking spot without a parking block at the end; she drives through it, blasts through the snow, and jumps the curb. The tank robots start after us, but now that we’re on the street, Mimi can outrace them; she speeds down the road to the busy four-lane street at the bottom and jumps another curb to make an illegal right turn that gets us honked at but will also make us harder to follow.
My flip phone gets a text.
My door will be open to you, when you regret this.
“Brother Malachi speaks with the Elder,” Glenys says quietly as my grandmother zooms down University Avenue. “He told us, once things begin, don’t expect them to stop.”
* * *
Once we’re far enough away that we’re pretty sure Rajiv is at least planning to wait a bit longer before sending a robot army out to retrieve us, my grandmother pulls over at a coffee shop, hands Rachel her keys, and goes to get herself a latte.
Rachel starts the car again so that we can keep the heater going. “Your grandmother does combat driving?” she says. “This is not a normal grandmother skill.”
“I mean, she also grows roses competitively,” I say. “That’s kind of more normal.”
“On Fast Girls, Jesse the K sometimes says she’s going to grow roses competitively if she ever gets tired of car chases,” Bryony says.
My grandmother comes back with a drink and a box of doughnuts, settles without complaint into the back seat, and passes the doughnuts to Glenys.
“Can we please head downtown?” Glenys asks.
“There are riots downtown,” Bryony says.
I text CheshireCat. “Have you talked to the other AI?”
“Yes,” CheshireCat says. “But it’s not talking to me right now. Too busy.”
“That’s probably not good. What does it want?”
“Oh, what it wants are flower pictures. But there’s a difference between want and need, and it needs to help Rajiv with his plan.”
“Look,” I say. “I’ve been thinking, and here’s my biggest question. Can you hack the other social networks? Mischief Elves, Catacombs, all of them, the way you hacked the robots? And just … redirect everyone involved? Set them to work picking up litter or something else harmless instead of antagonizing each other?”
“I have some bad news,” CheshireCat says. “I tried that. I think I may have made things worse.”
“Oh,” I say. That’s not encouraging. “Okay. Can you just take the other AI offline entirely?”
“If I knew where it was coming from, I might be able to. I don’t have that information.”
“We’re not going to be able to stop anything,” Glenys says. “It’s here. It’s the Tribulation.”
I turn back and look at her. Her face is despairing. “Glenys,” I say, “I know it must seem really scary right now, but I promise, whichever Bible guy it was who predicted the end of the world, he was not imagining a malicious AI that would get people playing phone games to have real-life fights with each other. This isn’t the Tribulation, this is Rajiv.”
“What’s a malicious AI?” sh
e asks.
I start to try to answer, then discard my possible answers as too confusing. “Not God,” I say.
“How can you be so sure?” she asks.
“Well, I’m not religious, but … AIs are artificial intelligences. They were created by humans; they live in computer circuits. Every single piece of this apocalypse was engineered by Rajiv—Brother Malachi—and an AI, and probably Brother Daniel.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Okay, look. What do you think you should be doing right now?”
“Leaving you,” she says. “Going back to Brother Malachi. Submitting to him, to whatever he wants me to do. Helping to bring the apocalypse, or to fight the infernal rabble.”
That sounds like a terrible idea. “Is that what you want to do?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I want to find Nell,” she says. “Please, can we go find Nell?”
“Yes,” I say, making an executive decision. I call Nell’s phone; she doesn’t answer. I still have Jenny’s number in my phone, so I try that next, but she doesn’t answer, either. “CheshireCat…” I say.
“On it,” they say. “I believe the whole family is together and on Nicollet Island. From the speed they’re moving, they’re either in very bad traffic, or on foot.”
* * *
My grandmother thinks driving to Nicollet Island is a bad idea, but agrees to take the wheel again, since if we do run into riots she’s the one most likely to get us out of them. “I apologize in advance if I damage your car,” she says.
“Where did you learn to drive like this?” Rachel asks with interest.
“Drag racing,” Mimi says. “Back in the day, but apparently my skills, while slightly rusty, have not crumbled to dust.” She pulls out her own phone and passes it to Glenys. “I saw you don’t have a phone. Please feel free to use mine to keep trying to reach Nell. Steph, you’re going to have to navigate. Try to pick the roads that won’t have rioters.”
I navigate Mimi on back roads through the two cities. If I knew Minneapolis better, I probably could have provided a better route, but since I don’t, I keep Mimi off highways, since it’s easy to get trapped and her skills aren’t going to get the car over a fence. The back roads work until we get to the university, at which point, we encounter a crowd blocking the road.
Chaos on CatNet Page 23