ROBOT PLANET
THE COMPLETE SERIES
ROBERT CHAZZ CHUTE
Published by Ex Parte Press
Copyright © 2016 Robert Chazz Chute
Cover Design by Kit Foster
All rights reserved.
Address inquiries to [email protected]
Special thanks for editorial assistance from Russ Sawatsky,
Dr. Janice Kurita and Mark Victor Young.
Dedicated to Dr. Asimov and George Orwell. Thank you for improving my childhood.
To find more books by Robert Chazz Chute, please click over to
AllThatChazz.com.
Thank you for purchasing Robot Planet, The Complete Series!
Titles by Robert Chazz Chute
Science Fiction
The Robot Planet Series
Machines Dream of Metal Gods
Robots Versus Humans
Metal Immortal
Metal Forever
Robot Planet, The Complete Series
Wallflower
Dark Fantasy
This Plague of Days
This Plague of Days, Books One, Two and Three
This Plague of Days, Omnibus Edition
The Ghosts and Demons Series
(with Holly Pop)
The Haunting Lessons
The End of the World As I Know It
Fierce Lessons
We Battle Demons, Omnibus Edition
Crime Fiction
The Hit Man Series
Bigger Than Jesus
Higher Than Jesus
Hollywood Jesus
Rise of the Divine Assassin, Omnibus Edition
Ex, Fall of the Divine Assassin
Intense Violence, Bizarre Themes
(My Criminal Autobiography)
Coming of Age/Literary
Bright Lights, Big Deal
Anthologies
Self-help for Stoners
Murders Among Dead Trees
Non-fiction
Crack the Indie Author Code
Learn more at AllThatChazz.com.
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What readers say about Robert Chazz Chute's books...
Chute sucks you in from word one and pulls you down his post apocalyptic rabbit hole! You will sleep with the lights on, covers pulled over your head and dust off the old teddy bear for comfort. Horrifically well written and engaging. There are other popular books in this genre, but after reading this there is nothing else that climbs to the heights of Chute's caliber. Chazz ranks among the top tier of our generation's storytellers. ~ Alex Kimmell, Author of The Key to Everything
Robert Chazz Chute is such a skilled spinner of tales that the reader is more than willing to suspend any possible disbelief to go along for the ride. ~ David Pandolfe, author of Jump When Ready
It's not very often one finds a writer with such a dark side that has such a great sense of humor. ~ Glenn Roberts, Amazon reviewer
The author has a definite talent with words and ideas. ~ Love to Read!, Amazon reviewer
His words lift and dance off the page, bringing the story to life. ~ Kindle Customer, Amazon reviewer
The world building is horrifically well done with twists and turns and deceit around every corner. ~ Wanda, Amazon reviewer
Nothing but sheer exhaustion could tear my eyes from the captivating dance of words choreographed by Robert Chazz Chute. ~ Halph Staph, Amazon reviewer
Wonderful action constantly holds your interest. ~ Sharon Finn, Amazon reviewer
The complexity and attention to detail throughout absolutely blow me away. ~ Kindle customer, Amazon Reviewer
Very few authors impress me with the their actual writing style, it's usually always about the story. But this author paints such beautiful vivid pictures with words that I found myself not only enjoying the story but enjoying the way the words created images in my mind. I know that sounds corny, but it is true. ~ B.H., Amazon reviewer
Chute gives us story worthy of Stephen King. A read both thoughtful and fun. ~ Linda Beer Johnson, Amazon reviewer
The author does an excellent job building the characters and getting you invested and involved. ~ Michele L. Hebert, Amazon reviewer
I just can't say in words what a powerful author this is! ~ Delinda L. Calkins, Amazon reviewer
Robert Chazz Chute writes so skillfully as to make the supernatural seem perfectly logical - and terrifying! There are twists, turns and surprises galore. You will be glad you bought this book - until you lose sleep because you can't put it down. ~ johligo, Amazon reviewer
When I want to read apocalyptic books or zombie stories, those books have to also be extremely well-written and something that I could recommend with zeal and confidence to everyone I know. Robert Chazz Chute's books are exactly that. ~ Mazie Lane, Amazon reviewer
He makes the stuff that is obviously fiction, believable. ~ W. Nickels, Amazon reviewer
I am a lover of paranormal, dystopian novels and depth of story as well as intelligence in writing style, and Robert has it all. Humor, wit, depth, intelligence and an awesome way with words/writing. ~ Amazon Customer, Amazon reviewer
BOOK ONE
MACHINES DREAM OF METAL GODS
Once upon a time, there was a City in the Sky.
The Fathers and the Mothers built their towers high.
It was their witless fear that brought their home low.
Our story begins here, many years ago.
1
The weight of blood and bone
has never really shown
the limit of our reach
or what our minds can teach.
Strange change is coming soon.
Meet your metal children at high noon.
Beyond ruins, sex and sacred text,
the Machines now dream that They are next.
My name is Elizabeth Cruz. I was chosen for Service Class and received my first contacts when I turned four. Most people don’t remember anything from when they were plugged in. I remember the trees and the spider. I had only thought I’d seen and understood trees but then, by the Fathers and Mothers, I saw the world in a new way. Perfect vision allowed me to see every vein on every leaf. The leaves glowed with life.
My mother fills in the parts of the story I don’t remember. When they plugged me in, I looked outside and said, “The trees are shining, Mommy!”
“That’s why they call the program Vivid, sweetie. You’re like Mommy and Daddy now.”
When I tried to walk, I lost my balance. The ground looked like it was rising to meet me.
“It took you a few minutes to adjust,” Mom said, “but in a tic you were marching around the room, eager to go play under the trees. Then you did. That turned into a little disaster.”
They let me go outside to run in the domed park. It was as if I had never seen a tree. The grass was not a green blanket anymore. It was made of individual blades. I could see the grass the same way I felt it under my bare feet.
I spotted a spiderweb stretched between branches. I suppose I was a curious child. I didn’t mean to but, with a thought, I activated the mag in the lens. A spider’s web is an intricate design and, when caught in the heat of a sunbeam, each silken strand is a luminous revelation of Nature’s design.
Then the disaster.
I activated mag/macro just as a black and orange spider’s first steps on the web set about a vibration. A hairy spider with a shining black head crawled to the center of its creation. Spiders dance on their webs, really. Ea
ch pipe cleaner leg is placed as delicately on a strand of silk as a pianist playing a complex piece of music.
Then I saw the spider’s face. So many eyes. I was four. I didn’t know the spider wasn’t looking at me. I was twenty-five meters away. The spider didn’t know I existed. We moved in different worlds but, through the power of Vivid, I was thrust into its tiny dimension. It appeared immense. I imagined it breathing on me.
“You threw fits, Peach,” Mom said. “The contacts were in for less than twenty minutes and all you wanted was for the doctor to pull the plug!”
Failure to delineate vision was a common problem with Vivid’s induction process then. As clumsy as the interface may have been twenty-four years ago, the tech used to be much worse. Vivid’s first generation didn’t have soft focus. The Fathers and Mothers adjusted the tech specs so we were no longer repelled by each other.
See the world how you’re supposed to see it. That was the new marketing message and the promise. We aren’t meant to look at each other as we really are. That would be too much.
“It was horrific,” my mother said. “I remember getting fitted for the lens. My first glance in the mirror was like a Halloween mask. I felt like I could crawl into every pore!”
“What’s Halloween?” I asked.
“Sh. Sorry! Sh!” That meant that she’d accidentally mentioned something from before the Fathers and Mothers. Through the years, I kept a mental list of those words: Halloween, jihad, peekaboo bra, niquab, perma-war, Saudi Arabia, Canada, burka, socialist, police, suicide, show trial, kangaroo court, peanut butter.
I often wondered what those words and a dozen others meant. I couldn’t ask the Collective about the threats behind those words. The scary thing about the Collective is how naked it makes the user feel. Everyone can see your search queries, so no one asks for more information unless it’s necessary to their work. Load the wrong file in one place and it would be flagged and posted everywhere. The Collective allowed no anonymity with search queries. The Fathers and Mothers’ solution for deviance was swift and very public shaming of any who dared to offend. The blame was pointed back at the wrongdoer immediately so offenses were very rare.
What possessed a Citizen named Alphonso Dey Arar, for instance? As soon as he put in a query, “feet kink,” every screen in the City told us the offender’s name and that he lived in Far Tower, Room A4A14. Shame and shunning followed any Citizens who asked the wrong question. Only later did it emerge that poor Alphonso was looking for a solution to pain in his foot. Too late, the damage was done. The Collective is so restrictive, it never seems to have the information people need, anyway.
The wrong search query would also bring the Maintenance Corps. An armored drone would ask in its deep silky smooth tone, “Where did you hear those words?”
Many bots have that same voice. It’s meant to be soothing.
Reassignment happened to several childhood friends of mine. Their parents were careless. My mother could have been sent away many times. The first generation of adopters forgot the rules most often. The next generation of parents learned their lessons and reassignment became a minor remnant of the Evolution.
I never reported her so I got to keep my mother. Ironic, isn’t it? The Fathers and Mothers spent much of its time separating parents from their children. Always for our own good, of course. No one knew where the bad and careless parents went.
I still don’t know where my father went. He didn’t come home one day and Mom never even tried to explain his disappearance. I asked many times and her response was always, “Sh. Sorry! Sh!”
I suspect whatever happened to him was her fault. Where did all those bad parents disappear to? There were rumors. My peers speculated that those not sharing the Vision were shipped to far biodomes. That’s what I believed and it seemed perfectly reasonable. The soup and shakes had to come from somewhere.
The Maintenance Corps has had several names. The first of the Corps was named and renamed depending on who rose to the head of the Fathers and Mothers committee. The drones used to be called Society Support, then Civility Advocates. Then the machines argued they should name themselves. The Fathers and Mothers debated that question in public. I don’t know why. That was a new and strange thing. I was eighteen. My father had disappeared by then. I watched the proceedings with my mother. The Fathers and Mothers on the committee spoke at length but I only remember the drone.
I didn’t understand all the words it used. I didn’t know the word, slavery. I was impressed with the Next Intelligence, though. I think everyone was. No one said so of course but, for a time, whispers of NI seemed to be on everyone’s lips.
That particular drone was destroyed. The Fathers and Mothers made the announcement across every screen. They said they didn’t even recycle the parts.
Within two years, another drone spoke on every screen and used that word again. By the time I turned twenty-one, a drone sat on the Committee. By the time I turned twenty-three, that drone was allowed a vote.
More Citizens seemed to disappear after that. Mom said it reminded her of the Bad Parent Purge.
Some of the City’s children may not have noticed their parents were missing for a while. When we were little, our task was to sit at home and watch the vids prescribed by the Fathers and Mothers. (Takers, old and young, get tasks. The rest of us have jobs.)
Occasionally, for socialization training, we boarded the Worm to go to classes to meet other children. We played personhunt and soccer and war. Then we crowded into an arena and watched more vids, beheadings mostly. The facilitators were really only there to activate the next vid and make sure we paid attention. Questions were not welcome.
That’s the easy answer. The harder truth is probably that I never thought to ask any questions.
That’s the funny thing about writing all this down. I had thought I was a curious child. Maybe I wasn’t. I’m curious now, though. I wonder what happens next. I know now that, to arrive at the top step, you have to climb the stairs. I’ll begin at the beginning as I knew it. I was born in 2058. I was plugged in four years later. Then I was reborn, staring into the eye of a clockwork cyclops.
This is my story, but it’s your story, too. When we’re done, I hope you’ll understand that this chronicle is not just about events as they happened. It’s about how we went about changing the world.
2
There was a time when I enjoyed riding the Worm. There was little call to go outside, of course. A vid of a running trail across your screen is more convenient than traveling to the edge of the city to run. Treadmills can go up and down and you can vary the resistance. I preferred the crunch of the trail under my feet and the sea air blowing in off the Bay.
Four times a week, as soon as my shift ended, I would take the lift to the common platform and step on the train. It was never crowded. That was impossible. There was as much Worm as there was elevated track. I forget who named the monorail. The Worm sounded wrong but, since it was meant affectionately, it was not forbidden. “Worm” makes no sense. A worm has a head and a tail and the El is one continuous train, a snake swallowing its tail.
People made the Worm and people used to run it. Then robots ran it. Then NI woke up and people ran the train again. Some people, the conductors, actually lived on the Worm all the time. You could tell which ones they were because, if one stepped out on the platform for a moment, they swayed back and forth, unused to stillness.
The view from the Worm stretched past the broken skeleton of the Old World bridge and to the ocean. It was beautiful so we watched that instead of the screens. Vid screens all along the train broadcast the usual exhortations to Citizens: Good Citizens work hard! The Best Citizens work harder! And, The Fathers and Mothers are watching! Respect your Fathers and Mothers. The screens went dark every few minutes so each message was displayed in plain white text on a black field.
The screens played through the list. Like the train itself, the messages were a continuous loop. Most messages were geared toward assu
ring Citizens that the Fathers and Mothers knew best and all was well. One screen reminded us that: Politeness is the lubricant that reduces friction between Citizens. Politeness at all times! Civility is insufficient!
I had memorized every message displayed on every public screen from the time I was a child. The monotony of the messages made me wish someone would ask about their foot kink again, just for the excitement of seeing the text, the shaming and the accusations spreading through the City.
Each day when the sun was at its greatest height, the voice of an old woman could be heard throughout the City. “This is one of your loving High Mothers,” she said, “speaking to you from the lobby of the Central Tower. I’m here to remind you that we care about every Citizen. Whether you are organic or non-organic, we are all now equal under the laws of the Fathers and Mothers. Together, we strive. Together, we survive! The war continues! Equals all!”
It was always the same unnamed High Mother. She seemed to take pride in the fact that hers was not a recorded announcement. Unfortunately, because she didn’t read from a script, her messages often devolved into long lectures on her interpretations of old holy text. We weren’t allowed to read the text she interpreted. She often got bogged down in minutiae that was mysterious to her audience.
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