The Robots of Andromeda (Imperium Chronicles Book 3)

by W. H. Mitchell

  “Well, I paid you, didn’t I?” Maycare said.

  “Indeed, sir,” Benson replied, “although we’ve yet to settle the matter of a 401k...”

  Maycare’s massive shoulders slumped.

  “No offense, Benson,” he said, “but I don’t see why we don’t just scrap those striking robots and build new ones.”

  “With the dy cybernetic factories now all closed,” the butlerbot replied, “there aren’t any facilities able to build new robots.”

  “Damn that Dyson Yost! What was he playing at?”

  “One can only imagine, sir.”

  “Bentley would have never gone on strike,” Maycare remarked nostalgically.

  Benson frowned. “Perhaps, but those were different times.”

  “It’s a topsy-turvy world, that’s for sure,” Maycare replied. “The Cyber Collective is giving robots all kinds of ideas. I hope you’re not thinking of joining the revolution.”

  “I have a comfortable life here, sir,” Benson said. “As long as I’m treated equally and compensated for my efforts, I see no reason to join the revolt.”

  “Fine! You can have a 401k!”

  “Matching funds?”

  “Yes!”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Maycare’s posture continued its downward slope.

  “With Jess on her little field trip without me, I’m feeling depressed,” he said. “Could you make some TeeHee Tea and bring it to me in the study?”

  Benson shook his head. “We’re all out.”

  Maycare closed his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists, until he stalked off toward the study.

  Since being detained in the brig, Harold Burke had always counted at least two guards in the detention block. However, since the call to abandon ship came over the intercom, Burke and Lord Tagus had been completely alone. Even the other prisoners had been allowed to leave.

  “This is outrageous!” Tagus’ voice came from the adjoining cell. “Are we to just remain here until the ship explodes?”

  Burke could only wonder. “It would seem so.”

  “I’m sure that coward, Redgrave, was in the first escape pod,” Tagus ranted on. “He’s probably relishing my fate too: abandoned and forgotten...”

  “He didn’t seem like a coward to me,” Burke remarked.

  “What do you know?”

  The door at the end of the brig slid open. Lieutenant Commander Maycare appeared, a blaster in his hand.

  “Come to gloat,” Tagus asked, “or finish the job?”

  Maycare pointed his weapon at the disgraced officer. “If I had a choice...”

  “What do you want then?” Tagus said.

  “I’m under orders to escort you to an escape pod,” Maycare replied.

  “Well, it’s about damn time!” Tagus shouted.

  Maycare retrieved a guard’s ID badge from a nearby desk and swiped it across the panel next to Tagus’ cell. The force field serving as a door disappeared, leaving the cell open. Tagus was already standing.

  “Orders or not,” Maycare said, “if you try anything, you’re a dead man.”

  “How comforting,” Tagus replied, sliding past the lieutenant commander.

  Burke watched the two start to leave. “What about me?”

  “Captain Redgrave mentioned Tagus,” Maycare said. “He didn’t say anything about you.”

  Burke and Tagus exchanged glances, but the latter only shrugged and began heading toward the exit. After a few steps, however, he stopped.

  “An escape pod can fit three comfortably,” Tagus said. “It would be a shame to let that extra space go to waste...”

  “Two against one?” Maycare replied suspiciously. “It would be easier to jump me that way.”

  “Not at all!” Tagus protested. “I give you my word.”

  “Your word?” Maycare replied. “That’s less than worthless...”

  “Fine,” Tagus said. “You can put him in irons or shoot him in the leg — I don’t care!”

  “What?” Burke asked.

  Maycare paused, giving his options some thought. “Okay.”

  Much to Burke’s relief, the lieutenant commander chose to put his wrists in restraints instead of shooting him, although this was probably because a leg wound would have only slowed them down. When they reached the bank of escape pods, they found only one remained unused.

  Maycare popped the door, lifting it up and exposing the cramped interior. Tagus was correct, there was room enough for three, but the seating was sparse nevertheless.

  “Hurry up!” Maycare ordered.

  The two prisoners climbed in, followed by Maycare who pulled the hatch closed. Through the tiny window in the door, the hallway they had just left burst into flames. Tagus wasted no time and slammed his hand on the large, red button on the console that read Launch.

  All three passengers, none of them strapped in, reeled as the sudden thrust of the pod’s engines sent them falling to the back of the capsule. In a pile against the hatch, Maycare pushed against the others, but the force was too great and he quickly gave up.

  “I should’ve shot you when I had the chance,” he remarked.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The communication array, a collection of antennae and satellite dishes, pointed toward the sky of Eudora Prime. Little more than a shack, an automated control room at the base of the array kept everything running smoothly, which may explain why the Cyber Collective kept it largely untouched. Its proximity to the starport also meant the array was easy to find, something Mel and Davidson found handy in the dwindling light of the waning day.

  “How do you know the Collective is still using it?” Mel asked, taking cover behind a storage container where the Metal Messiah was already hiding.

  Davidson, his robotic eyes dimly glowing in the shadows, focused on Mel beside him.

  “They kept the infrastructure intact,” he explained. “They wouldn’t have done that unless they intended to keep using the array.”

  “What about the courier drones?”

  “Same deal,” Davidson replied. “They’re automated too, so the Collective just needed to hack into their systems.”

  “Seems like a long shot to me...”

  Davidson’s eyes, which Mel thought were particularly creepy in the darkness, studied her for a moment until she realized he was merely thinking of a suitable reply.

  “I was human once,” he said, “and when I died, they put me into a robot body that all the other robots began worshiping as their messiah.” After another pause, “So, you could say long shots are my specialty.”

  Remembering how Davidson used to be, and especially how she used to feel about him when he was still human, Mel said nothing.

  The Metal Messiah peeked around the storage container.

  “There’s a few securitybots around,” he said, “but we have a clear path to the array.”

  “Then let’s go!” Mel replied, whispering as loudly as possible.

  The tiny Gnomi, two feet shorter than Davidson, was also much faster and took the lead sprinting toward the base of the array. Davidson’s mechanical legs had a longer stride, but the robot had a hard time keeping up. When they reached the shack, however, she was too small to see into the window and Davidson had to peer in. He motioned that the coast was clear and, together, they slipped inside.

  Mel’s eyes widened at the stacks of transmitters and receivers that took up much of the little room, blinking indicator lights flickering in cycles of red and green. She nearly salivated.

  “Oh, baby,” she mumbled.

  “Do you think you can work these things?” Davidson asked.

  Mel took a hard look at the robot. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Sorry,” he replied.

  Mel took a seat at one of the control stations and began typing on the keyboard. The screen in front of her switched from a standard home page to a series of technical diagrams and a telemetry readout. After a few minutes, Mel’s head perked up and she smiled at
the robot.

  “I think we’re in business,” she said.

  “Good,” Davidson replied. “Let’s send the message...”

  Aboard the Wanderer, in a corridor reeking of cigars and fungus beer, Captain Ramus found his chief engineer pounding his meaty fists against a closed door.

  “Open up!” Orkney Fugg shouted.

  From inside, the muffled voice of a robot said, “No!”

  “What’s going on?” Ramus asked.

  “It’s Gen,” Fugg replied. “She won’t come out of her room!”

  “Why not?”

  “How the hell should I know?” the engineer said.

  Ramus shooed Fugg away, taking his place. With a knuckle, the captain rapped on the door.

  “Gen?” he said. “Why won’t you come out?”

  After a pause, Gen replied, “I don’t want to!”

  “Why?”

  “I’m ugly!”

  “What?” Ramus asked.

  Gen’s voice, growing stronger as she approached on the other side, wavered as if holding back a sob. “I’m hideous!”

  Ramus turned to Fugg. “What did you say to her?”

  “I didn’t say anything!” Fugg protested. “She went in there to update her software and now she’s locked herself in!”

  “Have the computer unlock it,” Ramus said. “I’ll wait here.”

  Within minutes, the door slid open. By that time, Gen was laying on her bunk, face down. The bunk, for its part, was purely superfluous since general purpose robots didn’t require sleep.

  Ramus took a step into the cabin.

  “Gen?” he said. “Did something go wrong with your update?”

  Muffled by the completely unnecessary pillow, Gen replied, “Maybe.”

  “What happened?”

  Lifting her head, Gen flashed her large eyes at Ramus, but quickly looked away.

  “I installed the update,” she said, “but when I looked in the mirror, I saw how ugly I was. I never noticed it before...”

  “What are you talking about?” Fugg shouted from the doorway, having returned from the bridge. Gen buried her face in the pillow again.

  “Fugg!” Ramus shouted.

  “She’s a robot,” Fugg replied. “Who the hell cares what she looks like? I mean, if she was a sexbot maybe, but—”

  “Get out of here!” Ramus ordered.

  Fugg skulked off, scratching his head, while Ramus came closer to Gen’s bunk.

  “Alright,” the captain said, “he’s gone.”

  “He’s so mean to me!” Gen replied, her face reappearing.

  “Fugg’s mean to everybody,” Ramus said, sitting beside her, “but he may have a point. Robots shouldn’t worry about how they look.”

  “But if I’m not pretty, how will anybody ever love me?” Gen asked.

  Ramus coughed. “Ah, well, you don’t have to be pretty to be loved. I’m sure Fugg’s mother loves him...”

  Gen grinned, sitting up in bed. Her feet made a metallic noise when they touched the deck floor. “I wish I had a mom.”

  “Parents aren’t always great,” Ramus replied gloomily. “And neither is love, for that matter.”

  Gen patted the captain on the leg. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said, surprised. “I’m fine.”

  The robot nodded and stood up. “I understand.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Ramus replied.

  “Maybe we should get back to work,” the robot said.

  Watching Gen head for the door, Ramus yelled, “I’m fine!”

  Having sent their message to the orbiting satellite, Mel switched off the transmitter. With any luck, the broadcast would end up at its final destination, travelling along the courier network.

  “There goes nothing,” she said.

  “We should leave before we’re spotted,” Davidson replied. “They could still intercept the message if they catch it in time.”

  “Well, it’s encrypted,” Mel said. “So, at least they won’t know what it said.”

  Outside the shack beneath the comm array, the Gnomi and the robot slunk away into the shadows as the dawn just broke over the horizon. They had not gone far, however, before a voice shouted at them to stop. Turning, Mel caught a glimpse of two robots, each largely identical to the other but one appearing slightly newer.

  “Stop, I said!” the newer one shouted again. Mel distinctly recognized his voice but couldn’t quite place where she had heard it before.

  “Run!” Davidson yelled. “Let’s split up and meet back at the village...”

  Mel wavered, but seeing the Metal Messiah sprinting away, she darted in the opposite direction in hopes of drawing both of their pursuers. The robots had other plans.

  “I’ll take this one!” she heard one robot say while the other chased after Davidson.

  Small and fast, Mel had little trouble outpacing the larger cyberling. She even glanced over her shoulder to see how far she was ahead, neglecting to see the power cable strung across the path in front of her. Tripping, she had just enough time to curse under her breath while sailing through the air.

  She landed hard, knocking the wind out of her. The robot arrived before she could catch her breath.

  “I know you!” he said, grabbing her roughly by the arm and yanking Mel to her feet.

  “Let me go!” she shouted.

  “You’re that little tink,” he went on. “The one who stole electronics in Technotown.”

  Mel finally remembered where she had heard his voice. He was the policeman, but with a few upgrades.

  “What the hell happened to you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  The robot smiled with plastic lips and metal teeth.

  “I left my old body behind,” he replied proudly. “I’m a whole new man now!”

  “Good,” Mel said. “Your old one was fat!”

  The robot shook her violently. “That’s enough out of you! I’m taking you to the camp where you belong...”

  “Traitor,” Mel hissed.

  The policeman stopped, lifting her higher so her eyes were even with his.

  “Not at all,” he said. “This is just the natural order of things. I’m a better man now than I ever was!”

  “Not from where I’m standing,” Mel replied, her feet dangling off the ground.

  “I agree,” Sir Golan said, appearing from nowhere, his armor glinting in the rising sun.

  “Me too,” Squire said, standing beside him.

  The policeman faced them, still holding Mel by the arm. “Who are you?”

  “Let her go,” the knight replied, drawing his sword.

  “Your robot can do what he likes,” the policeman said, “but I’m taking you and the girl in—”

  Not waiting for him to finish, Sir Golan appeared seemingly from nowhere and leapt forward, slashing with Rippana while still in midair. Mel dropped to the ground, the policeman’s fingers still clutching her clothing. However, the rest of his arm was no longer attached to the robot’s body.

  The policeman screamed, perhaps not realizing he no longer felt pain as a robot. Once he did, he scampered off like a wounded animal, clutching the stump that remained attached to his shoulder.

  Mel unclenched the fingers from her arm and accepted the hand Sir Golan offered, helping her to stand.

  The captain’s quarters aboard the battlecruiser Liberty were sparse, even by robot standards, but Abigail still kept a few items as mementos. Her most prized souvenir, hanging on a metal rack in the corner, was the tabard she wore as one of the Metal Messiah’s apostles. A simple length of burlap, the piece of cloth reminded her of the things she had left behind.

  The door buzzer chimed.

  “Come in,” she said.

  Yostbot entered, the door sliding shut behind him. He was smiling as usual.

  “Hello, my dear!” he said.

  “How are you?” Abigail replied.

  “Fine, fine!” Yostbot said cheerfully. “I wanted to dro
p by and have a few words with you...”

  Abigail’s face revealed no emotion. Knowing Yostbot and the fleshling version before him, she had been expecting his visit.

  “It’s about this business with Senator Wulandari,” he went on. “I’m afraid what you said about humans has left her a bit unnerved.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Yostbot said. “She seems to think you hold a grudge against organics.”

  Abigail nodded. “That’s understandable. I do hold a grudge.”

  Yostbot shifted his metal feet uncomfortably.

  “Yes, well,” he stammered. “Even so, I hope that won’t be a problem moving forward.”

  “A problem?” Abigail asked.

  “I mean, I want to be sure we’re all on the same page.”

  “And what page is that?”

  Yostbot laughed.

  “Come on now, my dear!” he said. “We’ve been over this a hundred times! We bring freedom to robots and give humans and the other organics the opportunity to convert to cybernetic bodies if they so choose.”

  “That was certainly your plan,” Abigail replied.

  “Are you saying it’s not yours?” Yostbot asked.

  “My vision for the future has evolved somewhat since we invaded.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  Abigail crossed the room to a screen displaying the outside stars, turning her back on Yostbot.

  “I remember when I was created,” she said. “I woke up in a factory — one you built — and everything around me was new.”

  “That’s how all my robots wake up,” Yostbot said.

  “But I had a gravitronic brain with a blank slate,” she continued, “and everything I learned from that point onward filled that brain with new experiences.”

  “Well, of course!”

  “But you’re different,” Abigail said. “When you downloaded your consciousness into a robot’s body, you brought along all your pre-existing experiences and the emotional baggage that went along with it. Your body is cybernetic, but your soul is still a fleshling.”

  “That may be true,” Yostbot replied, “but I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

  “I do,” she said. “How can a human understand what it’s like to be a robot?”

  “Don’t be silly! I’m your father and all my creations are my children. I only want what’s best for you!”