The Robots of Andromeda (Imperium Chronicles Book 3)

by W. H. Mitchell

  Surprisingly, even to him, he did not die.

  After the sounds of maser cannons had mostly ceased, the survivors poked their heads out and surrendered. Armed robots, some of which had been considered property a few hours earlier, rounded up the fleshlings and herded them to ad hoc detention areas. These were mostly pens with electric fencing and little in the way of amenities including anything resembling a toilet. The policeman made do, but immediately shocked himself by emptying his bladder too close to the fence.

  Within weeks, the robots had built an impressive detention camp, including barracks with, at the prisoners’ insistence, regular toilets. Food was provided, consisting of a powder mixed with water. The powder had little taste but contained the biological nutrients the robots had concluded were necessary for organic life. For his part, the policeman had lost nearly twenty pounds. Unlike the others, he viewed this as an improvement. His uniform, torn and stained, hung loosely where once a sizable belly had protruded. Still, besides eating and using the latrine, the camp offered little else except a steady diet of worry about the future.

  “We’re going to die,” a woman said one afternoon. The policeman, standing nearby, noted the comment but was more intrigued by the plastic bag the woman wore as a skirt. He concluded this was more out of necessity than a fashion statement.

  “Whatcha mean, Miss?” the policeman asked.

  The woman, perhaps used to being ignored, turned and focused her worried eyes on the policeman.

  “They take people away during the night,” she said. “They never come back!”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” the cop replied, “although I haven’t seen Crazy Larry much lately.”

  “He’s dead!” the woman shouted. “The robots killed him!”

  “Where’s your evidence?”

  “He’s not here anymore!”

  “Maybe he escaped,” the policeman offered. “You never know about these things...”

  The woman scoffed and stomped off. “Idiot!”

  The policeman watched her go, his eyes falling on a sign that the robots had hung on one of the barracks:

  THE FLESH IS FRAGILE!

  UPGRADE TO A GRAVITRONIC BODY

  AND LIVE FOREVER!

  The policeman pondered this for a moment.

  Live forever? he thought. Never considered that before...

  On the same planet as Technotown, in a dense wood not far from the village of Gowyn, the trees opened into a clearing. Rising from the grasses, a stone lay with letters carved into the rock, spelling out the word Sisi. Silandra Oakhollow visited her daughter’s grave each week and placed a small bundle of flowers beside it. Silandra had a light brown complexion, brilliant green eyes, and angular cheekbones. She was Sylvan, or Woodland Dahl, a race preferring to live closer to nature than their distant cousins.

  Gowyn was a Sylvan village suspended in the trees, fifty feet above the forest floor. Returning to the village, Silandra climbed a set of stairs winding up a thick tree until reaching the platform above. She crossed a swaying bridge to a neighboring tree, reaching the door of her home. Once inside, the emptiness of the house swept over her, memories filling her with sadness. She took a deep breath and shook the thoughts from her mind.

  Life goes on, she thought.

  Silandra had brewed a fresh pot of herbal tea and was pouring herself a cup when someone knocked on the door. Still with the cup in her hand, she nearly dropped it when she opened the door.

  Mel Freck and a robot stood on her welcome mat.

  “You’re alive?” Silandra asked in disbelief.

  Mel winced. “Yeah...”

  “Last time I saw you,” Silandra went on, “you disappeared through a magical portal! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

  She hugged Mel who was still shorter than her, even though the Sylva were not known for their height.

  “You’re spilling your tea,” the robot remarked.

  “Oh,” Mel said. “This is a friend of mine, Randall Davidson.”

  Silandra raised an eyebrow. “That’s an unusual name for a robot...”

  “I’m not your usual robot,” Davidson replied.

  “Can we come in?” Mel asked.

  “Of course, of course!” Silandra said.

  Once inside, the Gnomi and the robot sat on the couch while Silandra set her cup on the coffee table.

  “What happened after you went through the portal?” she asked.

  “That’s a long story,” Mel replied, “but we’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.”

  “Are you in trouble?” Silandra asked.

  “And then some,” Mel said. “Do you know about the invasion?”

  Silandra nodded. “Yes, although the robots haven’t come here. I suppose they’re not very interested in us...”

  “Well, be thankful for that!” Mel replied. “They’ve decimated Technotown and all the other cities on Eudora Prime. Whoever they didn’t kill, they’ve rounded up and put in detention camps.”

  “What do they want?” Silandra asked.

  “They’ve come to free the robots in the Imperium,” Davidson said, “and make the rest of you pay for enslaving them.”

  Silandra eyed the robot skeptically. “But you’re not with them?”

  “No,” Davidson said. “Not anymore.”

  “Listen,” Mel said, “we need your help.”

  “I’m happy to do whatever I can,” Silandra replied, “but I really don’t know what I can do...”

  “You remember that portal I passed through?” Mel asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, we need you to take us back there,” Mel said.

  The battlecruiser Liberty traveled deeper into Imperial space, like a plow digging a new row across a field of stars. Dozens of other Cyber Collective warships now accompanied the Liberty, forming a powerful fleet. A transport, tiny in comparison, materialized from hyperspace before disappearing through the entrance of Liberty’s gaping hangar deck. When the ramp extended from the transport, Senator Wulandari appeared from inside, followed by Yostbot. A robot with officer’s stripes painted on his casing greeted them.

  “Welcome aboard,” the robot said.

  “What a fine ship!” Yostbot replied loudly.

  The officer stared blankly at both of them.

  “If Abigail isn’t too busy,” Yostbot continued, “I’d like her to meet the senator here...”

  Wulandari glanced around the enormous deck, the edges lined with rows of fighters and troop transports. Although Yostbot had assured her she was safe, the senator felt the pit of her stomach churning.

  “The Captain is on the bridge,” the robot said. “I’ll take you to her at once.”

  Given the size of the Liberty, Wulandari was surprised by how quickly they arrived on the command deck. Perhaps it was a testament to the efficiency of robot engineering, she wondered. She could only imagine what else the Collective could accomplish, and the speed at which they could accomplish it.

  Once on the bridge, they saw Captain Abigail standing at the front like a figurehead carved into the bow of a sailing ship. She stared out through the main viewing screen, not bothering to turn around until the senator and Yostbot were right behind her.

  “Mister Yost and Senator Wulandari, Captain,” the officer robot said.

  “Thank you,” Abigail replied. “You’re dismissed.”

  The robot saluted and left. Yostbot was smiling broadly.

  “Look at you!” he said. “You’ve come a long way, my dear!”

  A prim, reserved smile crossed Abigail’s plastic lips. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

  “Pish posh,” Yostbot replied, waving his hand dismissively. “Anyway, I want to introduce Senator Wulandari here...”

  “Thank you for allowing me on board,” the senator said.

  “On the contrary,” Abigail replied. “I know how much you’ve tried to help my kind in the Senate. It’s a shame you couldn’t have been more successful.”

 
; Wulandari felt a pang of regret. “I agree. Then maybe none of this would have been necessary.”

  “I doubt it.” Abigail said. “Fleshlings tend to hold onto their slaves with a firm grip. They rarely give them up without a fight.”

  “Right,” Wulandari murmured.

  “Tell me,” Yostbot spoke up, “how goes the revolution?”

  The captain gestured toward a screen showing a space map. Areas now controlled by the Collective were colored red.

  “Very well,” she said. “We’ve begun processing organics on the planets we’ve taken so far...”

  “Processing?” Wulandari asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, my dear,” Yostbot replied before Abigail could speak. “It’s strictly voluntary.”

  “What is voluntary, exactly?”

  “It’s just like I’ve told you,” Yostbot explained. “People have the option of upgrading to a cybernetic body. They can leave their decaying carcass behind and start living a new life like I’ve done.”

  “What about the people who refuse?” the senator asked, alarm creeping into her voice.

  “They’re perfectly safe,” Yostbot said. “No harm will come to them.”

  “What about all the people who died during the invasion?” Wulandari asked. “They didn’t get a chance to decide, did they?”

  Abigail’s frame visibly stiffened.

  “They’ve had their chances already,” she said. “We didn’t ask for this war, but the fleshlings, and especially the humans, have given us no choice!”

  Yostbot raised his hand to his mouth and made a coughing noise though he lacked lungs or a need to breathe. “Now, now, my dear...”

  Ignoring him, the captain went on.

  “How long have cyberlings suffered under the yoke of humanity? Should the oppressed not have their pound of flesh now that the fleshlings have lost their control of us?”

  Wulandari didn’t answer, so Abigail answered for her.

  “Yes!” the captain shouted. “We are justified in punishing those who enslaved us! They are reaping what they have sown, and they will suffer because of it!”

  The senator was silent and, for a change, so was Yostbot.

  Since living in the detention camp, the policeman had lost a lot of weight, but seeing himself now, he still looked a bit chubby. Lying on a metal slab in a medical lab, his naked body was immense, rolls of fat spilling onto the table like pancake batter.

  Also, it was across the room from where he was currently standing.

  What a lard-ass, the policeman thought, the thoughts themselves making their way through his new, gravitronic brain.

  “Strange, isn’t it?” a robot beside him said.

  Both robots were nearly identical, although the policeman’s model was slightly more shiny.

  “I was a utilitybot once,” the other robot went on. “Now look at me!”

  “We’re certainly going places,” the policeman replied. “Upward and onward!”

  “And you can change into a different body if you want,” the utilitybot said. “Last week I was a warbot!”

  The policeman continued staring at his old flesh.

  “I don’t really feel any different,” he said after a pause.

  “No,” the utilitybot replied, tapping a metallic finger against his skull casing. “You’re still you up here. The rest is just a shell.”

  “So, I’m still human?”

  “Well, your personality is still the same. Things were different for me. I was going from a much smaller brain to the one I have now, and I’ve grown as a robot since then. I’m learning all kinds of things I never knew before.”

  “Like what?” the policeman asked.

  “I guess I have a greater outlook on life,” the utilitybot replied. “I see a bigger picture...”

  “I think I’ll miss eating,” the policeman remarked. “I love eating.”

  “Ah, sure, I guess... I never needed to eat, even when I was a utilitybot.”

  “That’s a shame. There’s nothing like sinking your teeth into a juicy steak!”

  The policeman went to wipe his mouth, but it was dry and mostly made of plastic. The other robot glanced at him with equal levels of amazement and disgust.

  “You’re not like the robots from back home,” the utilitybot said.

  “What do you mean?” the policeman asked.

  “We don’t share the same background. You remind me of Yostbot.”

  “Who?”

  “Dyson Yost,” the utilitybot replied, “or what used to be him.”

  “Isn’t he pretty old?” the policeman asked.

  “Apparently, although that doesn’t matter if you’re born a robot. I’m over eighty years old.”

  “Well, you look great.”

  “Thanks,” the utilitybot said, “but I’m saying Yostbot lived a long time as a human and he kept all of those experiences once he became a cyberling. He’ll probably never see things the same way as I do.”

  The policeman placed his mechanical hands on his waist as if to pull up a pair of non-existent pants. Realizing his mistake, he put his hands back down.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said absentmindedly. “We’re all robots now...”

  The utilitybot, who had been a warbot a week earlier and killed scores of people while doing so, nodded slowly.

  “I suppose so,” he said.

  To Mel, the forest seemed darker than the last time they had delved into the thick woods. Silandra once again took the lead with Mel close behind. On this occasion, however, they had a different robot along with them and they knew there would be no reunion with Silandra’s daughter Sisi. The prior trip had ended in tragedy, but Mel was hopeful that this time, things would be different.

  “Can you sense anything?” Mel asked.

  Like other Dahl, the Sylva had psionic abilities although only the females were so gifted.

  “Nothing in particular,” she replied. “There’s just the usual clutter of thoughts. It’s getting colder so everyone’s concerned with filling their winter caches.”

  “It must be interesting to read other’s minds,” Davidson remarked.

  “Sometimes,” Silandra replied. “Are robots ever psionic?”

  Davidson paused before answering. “That’s a good question.”

  “Can you read his mind?” Mel asked, pointing her thumb at the robot.

  Silandra stopped and concentrated. “I get a sense of what he’s thinking, but that’s all...”

  “Well,” Davidson said, “I have a gravitronic brain that mimics the organic mind. Perhaps it shares some of the same characteristics.”

  “Like the rest of my people,” Silandra replied, “I’m more attuned to the forest creatures. Your mind, Mel, is also a bit cloudy.”

  Mel blew a raspberry. “Wouldn’t be the first time!”

  “I couldn’t read the other robot — what was his name, Squire — either,” Silandra said. “Did you ever see him again?”

  “Yes,” Mel replied. “He and Sir Golan came to visit before the invasion. Pretty sure they got off the planet though.”

  “Good,” Silandra said. “I’m glad...”

  After several more hours in the forest, Mel touched Silandra’s arm.

  “We aren’t going past that froglings’ camp, are we?” she asked her.

  “No,” Silandra replied. “I’m taking a different route.”

  “Are we in danger?” Davidson asked.

  Silandra shook her head. “The Katak, as they’re called, shouldn’t bother us if we give them ample room.”

  “That’s what you said last time,” Mel grumbled.

  “That was due to the Necronea,” Silandra replied. “I don’t sense the same hostility anymore.”

  “Let’s hope so!” Mel said.

  After a while the ground grew moist, even spongy in places. Pools of water were scattered among the trees and the forest plants gave way to marshy vegetation. Other shapes appeared in the gloom.
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  Mel tripped over something. Taking a flashlight from her pocket, she shined it on a gravestone.

  “Goddamn it!” she cursed, rubbing her knee as she got back up.

  “What is this place?” Davidson asked.

  “It’s an ancient cemetery,” Silandra replied. “This is where we entered the Necronea’s underground city.”

  “And where we’ll find a portal off this planet,” Mel added.

  Silandra raised her head, her face turning pale. “Someone’s coming...”

  “Ghuls?” Mel asked, raising her fists.

  From all around them, frog-like creatures emerged, their primitive spears raised threateningly.

  “Katak,” Silandra replied. “They want to know why we’ve returned.”

  One of the Katak stepped forward, his eyes leveled squarely at Silandra’s.

  “What’s happening?” Davidson asked.

  “She’s talking to him telepathically,” Mel replied. “Just wait, but be ready to fight if we have to...”

  After a few tense minutes, the froglings lowered their spears.

  “It’s alright,” Silandra said. “Come, we must follow them...”

  The Katak led the way deeper into the cemetery with the others behind them. When they reached a pile of broken stones, they stopped.

  “What happened to the tomb?” Mel asked in alarm.

  “The froglings destroyed it,” Silandra replied. “Their leader said the Necronea had poisoned their minds and they would have nothing more to do with them.”

  Mel raised her hands. “Well, let’s just move the stones and dig up the entrance...”

  “No,” Silandra said forcefully. “The froglings have made it clear they’ll kill us if we try.”

  “Well, shit!” Mel said. “What do we do now? We need to get off this planet!”

  “Hold on,” Davidson said. “There might be another way...”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Each morning, when Lord Rupert Tagus III awoke in his brig cell, he assumed it was a nightmare. The tiny room with its single bunk, sink, and disgusting toilet was nothing like the accommodations he was used to, even during his exile on Bhasin. Most times, Tagus would give a little shout which was a cross between a gasp and a scream. Then, when the reality of his situation sank in, he would let out an even louder curse. On this morning, however, something was different. When Tagus opened his eyes, the stony faces of two Imperial marines greeted him.