The Ravagers Box Set: Episodes 1-3

by Alex Albrinck

  But if he was right?

  He only hoped that the General, who’d had the foresight to build this place, had identified the risk and built a spot immune to Ravagers. He hoped that the storm shelter mentioned by Whiskey was that spot.

  He found a bedroom and dashed inside, pulling drawers open, searching for anything that looked to be large enough to fit him. He was slightly taller than John; anything big enough to fit him could be tightened for the others. He found a shirt and held it to his chest. Close enough. He threw it on the bed. Grabbed a dozen more shirts and did the same. Tested pants found hanging in a closet. Entered the bathroom and found toothbrushes and toothpaste and other personal supplies. He tossed everything on the bed, pushed the pillows atop the pile of clothing and supplies, and wrapped the comforter around all of it. He grabbed the bundle and sprinted down the stairs, trying to maintain his balance as the awkward bundle bounced against his legs.

  Mary and the children were gone. John remained. “What are you doing?”

  “The smaller storms blew our ships here. Something as strong as what Whiskey’s projecting? Tornado level winds? What if they blow Ravagers here?”

  John took only a second to understand. He grabbed the bundle from Wesley. “Go get your supply packs. The robots grabbed everything from the beach and dropped them in the kitchen.”

  He could kiss Whiskey right now. Though that would be weird. He dashed into the kitchen to find his potential metal lover waiting. “You are disturbed, Wesley Cardinal. May I fetch you a drink?”

  “No, not now. We’re moving downstairs to wait out the storm.”

  “I had your supply bags fetched from the beach, Wesley Cardinal.”

  “Thanks, Whiskey. You’re the best.”

  “Thank you, Wesley Cardinal. May I assist you in any manner at this time?”

  He finished grabbing all of his bags and hoisted them off the ground. “Show me the steps to the lower level.”

  “Of course, Wesley Cardinal.”

  He followed the robot. Whiskey rolled to a door and used his claw to turn the handle and pull the door open. “Thanks, Whiskey,” Wesley said, dodging the robot and bolting down the steps.

  “Of course, Wesley Cardinal, friend of General Jamison.”

  He was halfway down the stairs when the house shuddered. He nearly lost his balance and fell, but righted himself and finished his descent. He heard a loud whistling sound above, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose, a chill of fear icing down his spine. He moved toward John, who looked up at the ceiling.

  Mary, who worked to spread out the comforter and pillows for the children, looked up at them, her face grim. “I think the storm is here.”

  Wesley nodded and, like John, looked up as well.

  He hoped that the storm was the only thing shaking the house.

  If not?

  They were all doomed.

  —————

  SHEILA CLARKE

  —————

  SHEILA CRANED HER head back, tracing the silvery sphere as it rose above the island, ascending to the low cloud cover and beyond. Once the sphere moved beyond her range of vision, she dropped her head to the ground.

  She’d never felt so alone in her life.

  Micah had served as a professional mentor, a friend, and in many ways as a father figure. He’d been the rock of her existence, even as she’d denied to herself the steady deterioration of her relationship with Stephen. It was highly ironic that Stephen would accuse her of an intimate relationship with Micah, and not just because she now knew that to be a physical impossibility. With the exception of a short burst of time where she’d become convinced he’d wanted her dead, Micah had been there for her like no one else. When she’d told him she loved him as the ship’s door closed, it hadn’t been meant in any type of romantic sense; she’d never been attracted to him in that fashion even before she’d known his true nature. No, she’d been thanking him for being that singular friend that everyone needed in their life.

  She wondered if his machine brain, sophisticated though it might be, could understand such subtlety.

  And she wondered if he’d remember, even if he’d heard her.

  She’d maintained some small doubt as to his robot nature until she’d slid his brain out the back of his head, hefting the clearly metal contraption and carrying it to the body of the man from the memory playback. The hand might be a prosthetic, the stump a prop to fool her. She couldn’t conceive of a reason to do so; still, though, that slight doubt alleviated some underlying fear that she’d completely lost her mind in the rapid and total upheaval of the world she’d known and the relationships she’d built. It was a weird daydream, a hallucination protecting her from dealing with the new world she inhabited.

  There was nothing fake about that brain.

  She glanced back at the sky. His brain, comprised of bits and bytes and electrical signals resided in some fashion on the extensive computer network buried beneath the dirt and sands of Eden. But what remained here stayed current only when in range for backups. If he’d not shifted that last comment to offline storage, and he suffered the fate he fully expected, he might be revived in the physical form she knew, but he wouldn’t remember those last few words.

  Perhaps it was for the best. Better still would be his survival.

  But she knew he didn’t plan to survive. He’d made it clear. He knew she was better equipped to find and subdue the Ravager control server; she suspected that the devices he called nanos weren’t manageable by his machine brain, and as such he couldn’t move around without detection. Best, then, to arrive and attract as much attention as he could and give her as much time with Phoenix’s headquarters reacting to the appearance of the man with the jet black hair and piercing jade green eyes.

  The man Micah impersonated had been the owner of the memories she’d seen of Ashley, and by context had been a prominent opponent of the forerunner of the Phoenix Group. By implication, the men and women of Phoenix wouldn’t expect to see him, thinking he’d disappeared or died; Micah hadn’t elaborated as to the man’s fate. But he’d been quite sure that the form he’d taken would unnerve Phoenix far more than anything else he could do.

  She’d wandered while thinking, moving back to the room with the portal door. The charge percentage had updated, now reading 91.3% capacity, with three hours and fourteen minutes remaining until reaching a full charge. She wanted to go now, but Micah’s warning echoed in her ears. She had to wait for those three hours to pass, and find something to do in the interim.

  Sleep? Oh, she desperately wanted sleep. Her body and mind remained on a heightened rush of adrenaline, though she knew she needed rest. Three hours, though, wasn’t sufficient; she’d wake up groggy, if she woke in time at all. Better to do something else.

  She decided to explore the island. She didn’t know if she’d get another chance to wander around what she thought of as the perfect setting for life. Before departing, she rummaged around and found an elastic armband. She used it to fasten to her arm the all-important device Micah supplied. The memory stick contained the necessary code to complete their takeover of the Ravagers and make them… friendly. She shivered at the memories of buildings collapsing around her, a sharp contrast to what she’d done with the swarm of the Ravagers’ technical cousins now at her command.

  She left the room and ascended the stairs once more, emerging into the bright sunlight. Thin wispy clouds hovered overhead; the thicker collection had moved past the island after Micah’s departure. The sun warmed and energized her skin. She’d never recognized the stagnant nature of the air in the Lakeplex until she drew breaths here. Here, she felt she could conquer the world.

  Banish that thought; she’d no interest in sharing any commonalities with Phoenix, not even a random expression in seeming concert with that group’s ideals. More interesting to think about living here with a good man, preferably one with more monogamous tendencies than Stephen, and less metal in his body than Micah.

 
; She chuckled. What a juxtaposition. One of the men had the emotional sophistication of a teaspoon. The other was a thousand year old robot.

  She still had her watch; her phone was long gone at this point, left behind in the cabin on the island with Whiskey. She missed that robot as well. It didn’t say much for humanity when her best companions were machines. After setting her alarm for thirty minutes before the projected time of a completed charge, she glanced around before walking to the shore of the river. The clear water rippled around, and she dipped to her knees and used her hands to scoop up the clear liquid, letting it moisten her parched throat. She’d not realized how thirsty she was; her last drink was the whiskey prepared for her by Whiskey. That drink hadn’t done much to hydrate her.

  She stood and looked to her left. The river meandered through a modest forest before, as best she could tell, slicing through the beach and emptying into the ocean. To her right, she saw the trees thinning out and low, rocky hills in the distance.

  She’d been to a beach before; the Lakeplex featured a few sandy beaches near the port within the safety—she snorted—of the walls, and she’d trundled through the sandy beach on the lake island. But there were few rocky hills or mountains around her home town. She turned right and started walking.

  She watched the fish swimming in the clear water, and noted that the tree density thinned and the tree line moved further away from the narrowing river as she neared the mouth. As she approached the end, near where several trickling streams merged together, she caught a whiff of an incredible scent. The air here possessed a sweet fragrance, but that sweetness was magnified in this spot. Had she located the source of the fragrant aroma of the island?

  She turned in a circle, inhaling deeply at points. The scent was definitely strongest to her right, away from the river. She checked her watch. Plenty of time. And Micah assured her that the two of them were the most dangerous predators on this island, so she had nothing to fear. She veered away from the river and moved across the spongy grass toward the thin grove of trees some twenty yards away.

  The temperature dropped slightly; the tree canopy soaked up a goodly percentage of the sun’s rays. She spotted a small stone set near one of the larger trees, and realized that something was written on it. She used her sleeve and brushed away dirt and grime accumulated over the years. The lettering finally became legible, but she didn’t know what it meant.

  WS #2 1994 HS#1 2040.

  Was it a tombstone? Were the letters a code meant to identify the deceased? She didn’t know. And the intoxicating aroma beckoned to her, tempting her away from the mysterious lettering.

  She moved.

  A moment later, she emerged into a clearing. There, surrounded by the large trees and a cleared expanse of grass, stood a tree with an appearance different than all others she’d ever seen.

  The overpowering aroma made clear that this tree generated the scent. Her eyes narrowed, taking in the beautiful red fruit hanging from the branches. She moved, unable to stop herself, until her fingers brushed against the satiny smooth skin of the brilliant red orbs. She gripped one of the fruits and tugged, separating it from the branch, hearing the rustle of leaves as the branch bent low in response to her pull, then snapped back into position as the fruit came free. She raised the fruit to her face and breathed it in.

  If Eden was paradise, then this fruit must be the nectar of the gods.

  She took a bite, and a moan escaped her lips. It was impossibly perfect. She closed her eyes, savoring each bite, and in what seemed no time at all she’d eaten all of it. The fruit energized her; it was as if she’d erased all the muscle aches and pains and fatigue from her body.

  Her mind now abuzz, she glanced at her watch, fully aware she had a job to perform. She still had plenty of time to head back. She could spend time exploring the rocky hills and seeing what mysteries might exist there, but decided she’d just need to come back when saving the world wasn’t on her calendar.

  She set a comfortable pace back out from the grove, glancing at the small tombstone. She’d ask Micah about the lettering etched in the rock and the name of the fruit she’d eaten when they next met; for now, she’d make sure she made the portal trip at the appointed time.

  She exited the trees and turned left, loping along in the spongy grass. She didn’t know what nutrients the fruit contained, but there was a noticeable burst in her stride that wasn’t there before. Though she thought she’d set a slow pace, she made it back to the buildings far faster than anticipated.

  Now what? She thought for a moment and then knew exactly how she’d spend her last few minutes prior to departure. She turned left and moved into the ancient wooden building, past the desk and submarine prototype, and entered the memory immersion room.

  “Computer?”

  Hello, Sheila. Please let me know what type of memory you’d like to replay. You may provide dates or other context-based criteria.

  She blinked. “Um… I’d like something earlier than the memory I watched earlier. Something featuring Ashley Farmer.”

  Thank you. Processing request. Please close the door for the best replay experience.

  Oh. She closed the door and moved into the room, and used the wait to change the alarm time on her watch since she had only a few feet to walk to her final destination.

  Playing memory now.

  The memory, as with her previous experience, began from the perspective of the man Micah now impersonated, a full three-dimensional projection of his sensory record of this point in time. His gaze remained on Ashley. She saw numbers in the periphery, a date. What was the year of the previous memory? 2219? This was nearly two centuries earlier, yet Ashley looked no different. The visual provided a powerful demonstration of the effects of the physical immortality enjoyed by Ashley and her friends. And enemies.

  Ashley began speaking, but Sheila found her attention attracted by something else.

  Light glinted off metal. Limbs extended from a larger mass; lights blinked from the vicinity of what might be considered the head on the body of the machine. A leg flailed around wildly, slowly changing the speed and contortion of the movement. What began as a wild series of motions evolved into a limb operating under complete control.

  Sheila found it fascinating watching as the metal creature moved its arms and pressed itself into a standing position. Both legs moved in tandem; the robot had learned its lesson in taking control of one leg and applied those lessons to operating the second. She hadn’t seen any lessons around alternating legs and arms, but the robot took one awkward step, stopped, then took another. The third step showed significant improvement over the second.

  Ashley turned toward the metal creature. “Salfie, please fetch me a cup of coffee.”

  The robot—called Salfie, apparently—nodded. Then nodded again. And again. And again. And—

  “Salfie, you need only nod once to indicate understanding of my statement. Do you understand?”

  The robot nodded once.

  “Excellent. Please fetch my cup of coffee.”

  The robot turned its back to the vantage point provided from the green eyed man, and then she saw it. The blinking lights and the metal brain she’d just transferred not two hours earlier.

  “Micah?” she whispered.

  She’d stumbled upon a scene from the earliest days of his existence, watching as he learned to operate his limbs before artificial skin covered his metal body and gave him the illusion of humanity. She watched as her ancestor Ashley coached him through that learning process, and marveled at the speed of his development. It was little wonder, after centuries of observation, that he seemed so easily human, so capable of playing any human role required.

  Watching that scene was like watching her grandmother teach her father how to walk. It felt like a reunion with a family she’d lost so long ago.

  “Hold it together, Sheila,” she muttered. “There’s work to do. No time for sentimentality.” She took a deep breath. “Computer, stop playback.”
>
  The scene vanished, plunging her once more into darkness. She found that the handle for the door possessed a slight luminescence, and she reached it seconds later.

  She checked her watch before heading back to the portal room. The estimated time hadn’t budged, meaning she had another hour to kill. In two hours she’d walked around the island, discovered a mysterious tombstone, had eaten a delicious piece of native fruit that left her refreshed better than any nap, had seen Micah in his infancy… and she still had time.

  The anticipation would kill her. What could she do?

  She snapped her fingers. She’d work on developing her familiarity and skill with the friendly Ravagers, what Micah called nanos. There wasn’t much space in this room; too many batteries. And she didn’t want to risk damaging those batteries lest it jeopardize her trip.

  She moved back to the hallway and practiced there. She formed a chair, a desk, a bed, then clothing, items she’d created before under Micah’s tutelage. She split the swarm up, using the bulk to form the invisible armor with a second smaller batch used to form a pair of sharp knives. She recalled the original activation, how she’d been overwhelmed with new sensory input from the machines, and learned how she could move them around and use them as remote cameras and listening devices, a skill that would come in handy if she needed to look around corners.

  She glanced at her watch, wondering how much time she had left, and nearly screamed.

  The batteries had reached capacity ten minutes earlier. She’d accidentally turned off the alarm.

  She sprinted through the door into the portal room. “I’m coming, Micah!”

  After triple checking the battery capacity indicator and confirming what she suspected, she moved to the main screen. The activation button glowed, flashing at a slow hypnotic pace. It was time to go.