Ravagers [03.00] Deviate

by Alex Albrinck

  The couple shared a quick glance. “I’m… John. John Smith.” The man glanced at the woman. “This is my wife. Mary. And these… these are our children.” A brief pause. “Jack. And… Jill.”

  Wesley stared at the man. He was no robot looking up names in a database of some kind; the man’s blatant use of pseudonyms assured Wesley his initial assumption was correct. These people were dangerous, and should not be trusted. His hand moved to the knife and he pulled it out, not bothering with subtlety. He twisted the blade, looking at it as if he’d never seen it before, letting the overhead lighting glint off the sharp edge. His eyes flicked to the adults, who gazed at the blade with obvious concern.

  The children watched the glinting light, mesmerized. Wesley stifled a desire to swallow; he had no interest in killing children. Even if their parents deserved death.

  Whiskey reanimated. “Human strangers, I am unable to locate the names of John Smith, Mary Smith, Jack Smith, and Jill Smith on my available list of Phoenix members and sympathizers.”

  Wesley caught the small look of triumph on the man’s face. Damn. He’d made up fake names because he knew they’d never find them on the list. Innocent by subterfuge?

  “However, human strangers, I have been unable to locate those names in any Western Alliance databases, nor am I able to match your voice prints against those of known citizens.”

  Wesley felt the smirk spread across his face as “John Smith’s” face lost the triumphant gleam. “What… what does that mean?”

  “It means your little lie didn’t work.” Wesley examined the sharp tip of the knife. “The inability to locate a fake name on a list of Phoenix supporters doesn’t make you a friend. It just means you don’t exist on any list.” He glanced at the robot. “Right, Whiskey?”

  “Your explanation is accurate, friend Wesley Cardinal. Given the attempts at deception, we must assume they are foes and act accordingly.”

  There was something unnaturally chilling about the words, enunciated by the robot with the high pitched voice. The intruders would suffer death. And Whiskey had no emotional constraints in regard to carrying out that penalty.

  Wesley gulped. That meant he’d execute the children as well. He glanced at the youths, who’d made the painful realization, their eyes full of terror, whimpers sounding forth as they fought back tears. He wondered if their parents possessed any weapons. They’d given no indication that they did. With death threatened, he’d expect to see any weapons at their disposal revealed. He tightened his grip on the knife handle and watched, waiting for their next move.

  Their eyes flicked to the exterior walls once more.

  Wesley saw it and instantly understood. “Whiskey, they’re going to try to escape!”

  Seconds later, a dozen robots of all shapes and sizes detached from the walls and emerged from the shadows, all brandishing automatic weapons aimed at the strangers. Wesley felt startled. He’d suspected Whiskey would have help in enforcing island security, but he hadn’t known the other robots were there. The cavalry rolled forward, tightening the circle around the family. The children’s tears, the sobs far louder now. Wesley stepped back, outside the noose. He had no interest in taking a stray bullet, or finding himself seized as a hostage. Desperate people did desperate things.

  The woman held her hands up and stepped forward. “Wait! I’ll tell you who we are.”

  “Too late,” Wesley muttered, folding his arms.

  Whiskey didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. “Tell me your real names, human strangers.”

  The woman lowered her hands. “Whiskey, you said you checked databases of Phoenix members and citizens of the West, correct?”

  “That is correct, human claiming the pseudonym Mary Smith.”

  “Do you have access to databases matching blood samples as well?”

  “Yes, human stranger.”

  She held out her hand. “Take a sample of my blood. You should find mine in the lists you’d expect from friends.”

  Wesley scowled. “Seriously? Why not just tell him your real name?”

  “I understand that this looks… deceptive.” The man grimaced. “It is imperative that no one know our real names, as there are still people—good people—who would be hurt as a result.” He nodded at Mary. “Test her blood. You can check mine as well. I assure you that you’ll learn that we’re trustworthy.”

  Whiskey rolled through a gap in the circle of armed robots and approached the woman. He extended his robotic claw toward her hand. Wesley watched as the woman winced in pain and saw the red stain appear at the tip of her finger.

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe this.”

  The woman pulled her hand back and sucked on it briefly, then moved back to the children, taking their hands to comfort them. The man watched her for a moment before turning his attention on Whiskey.

  Five minutes passed. Whiskey seemed to be asleep. The robot guards hadn’t moved or lowered their weapons; they, unlike humans, didn’t suffer from boredom. Wesley paced, glaring at the intruders, wondering why Whiskey bothered delaying the inevitable. What if her blood contained some type of toxin that ate away at robot innards? It sounded like something Phoenix would invent.

  Whiskey’s eyes blinked back on. “I am able to match the blood sample from two lists of individuals identified as friends of the General, though I am unable to retrieve the associated name. However, by the General’s definition, this means this human woman is now a confirmed friend and is offered full access to the house and island, and may make full use of all food, clothing, and provisions here.”

  Wesley felt his jaw drop. She’d gotten away with it? “You’ve got to be kidding, Whiskey. How can you consider her a friend if you don’t know her real name?”

  “My definition of friend comes from the General, Wesley Cardinal. She qualifies as a friend using the criteria he established.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he is.” Wesley’s voice was a whisper.

  “That’s a fair statement.” The man moved toward Whiskey. “I am willing to undergo the same test.”

  “How noble,” Wesley muttered.

  Whiskey didn’t catch the sarcasm. Five minutes later, Whiskey declared the man a friend of the General as well, granting him full access to the house, island, and all provisions therein.

  Wesley shook his head. The couple pleaded with the robot, begging him not to put the children through the blood test, and Wesley didn’t argue when Whiskey agreed.

  Wesley glared at his new “friends,” feeling as if he’d just been forced to join the Sheila Clarke Fan Club. He looked at the ground and busied himself trying to slide the dust on the floor into the gouges left by the sliding sofa.

  “I’ve heard you mention the General on several occasions,” the man said, addressing the robot. “Are you referring to Micah Jamison?”

  “That is correct, human with the pseudonym John Smith.”

  The man nodded, stroking his chin with his undamaged left hand, and the woman visibly relaxed. Wesley scowled. He didn’t trust them. They’d probably been sent by Phoenix with orders to kill the General. The fact that they’d fooled the stupid robot didn’t change the fact that they weren’t trustworthy.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink, Wesley Cardinal and humans with pseudonyms?”

  Wesley almost laughed as his stomach rumbled. Well, at least Whiskey knew they hadn’t given their real names.

  For the first time, he watched the children react without fear or restraint. The thought of food sent them bounding around the room, bouncing and giddy with excitement. Wesley could hear sounds coming from another room on the main floor, the clangs and clattering so loud that he wondered if they’d suffered yet another invasion. He felt a bit startled at his attitude. A few hours ago, in the aftermath of the Ravager devastation, he would have welcomed any sign of human life with great joy, proof that he wasn’t alone in the world. Now? Any possible sign of human life on this island left him anxious, angry, and paranoid. What was w
rong with him? Had the storm reactivated some of the Voice-induced madness?

  He followed the others toward the sounds, ducking into a full kitchen replete with specialized robots—of course—spinning and rolling and dicing and chopping. He watched a chunk of meat being seasoned and loaded into an oven, watched vegetables cook as thick steam rose from a stovetop burner, felt his mouth water as slabs of cake batter were poured into pans. His stomach growled, much louder this time, and the children giggled with delight.

  Their laughter, even at his expense, made him smile.

  He turned and spotted John and Mary, huddled together in a whispered conversation, and his smile turned upside down. He walked away, ignoring the shouts from the children asking why he left.

  He walked out the front door and sat on the top step, watching clouds darkening in the distance. The temperature had dropped since he himself had arrived on the island, and it wasn’t related to the changing time. A storm was brewing, not unlike the one that drove him here.

  Something about that bothered him, but he couldn’t understand what it might be.

  He watched the trees, gazed at the swaying branches, watched as the various flora and fauna moved about, oblivious to his presence. There was a tranquility here, far different from what he’d always felt inside the bustling Lakeplex walls, one far more reminiscent of his own home on the outside.

  Just without predators, like the Hinterlands beasts.

  He sat there for some time, his sense of contentment gradually increasing.

  “I thought you might be hungry.”

  Wesley leaped off the steps, landing awkwardly on the ground below before spinning around to face the door. He gritted his teeth and ignored the sharp pain in his right ankle. John stood on the porch, holding a china plate laden with meat, vegetables, and a slice of some form of cake. Wesley could see the steam rising from the food, and the smoke flitted toward him, taunting him with a delicious scent. His stomach roared anew.

  “I don’t bite, you know. And I’m quite sure that if I tried to inflict any harm upon you, the robots would destroy me in a second.”

  Wesley said nothing.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” John said. He sat down on the top step, where Wesley had rested a moment earlier. “I know you’re wary about us, and I understand why. I will tell you our story, though I won’t tell you our names. I think you’ll understand why when I’m done. If you still choose to feel a deep sense of mistrust, you’ll at least do so with all necessary information.”

  Wesley relaxed his stance slightly. “You might lie.”

  “I might. You’ll have to decide if my story rings true.”

  Wesley relaxed more. “No assurances that I can trust you?”

  “Would it matter?”

  He considered. “No.”

  “Then I won’t waste our time offering them.” He lifted the plate up and toward Wesley once more. “Your food’s getting cold.”

  Wesley grudgingly climbed the steps and sat down next to John, accepting the offered plate and silverware. John studied the sky while Wesley took his first bite. The vegetables were exquisite. He used the knife to saw off a bite-sized chunk of meat. Mouth-watering. He chopped off a piece of cake and savored it in his mouth. Decadent. He closed his eyes and sighed a deep, contented sigh.

  “Best cooking I’ve ever had, and I’ve had the chance to eat some fantastic meals in my day.” John shrugged. “The General could’ve opened a restaurant and retired a rich man if he’d so desired, but I suspect he had greater priorities.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like saving our lives, for one thing.”

  Wesley, about to stuff another chunk of meat in his mouth, paused. “What?”

  “I’m going to be honest with you, but I need to ask you to withhold judgement about us until the story ends. Because our story doesn’t begin happily.” He sighed. “My… Mary and I, we were part of Phoenix.”

  He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and found himself scooting away.

  John grimaced. “We were part of Phoenix, Wesley. We joined an organization sold to us as something it wasn’t, and unintentionally aided them along the way. When we learned the truth and expressed our concerns, we were imprisoned. You don’t unjoin Phoenix, Wesley. Once you’re in, you don’t leave until you die.”

  Wesley stopped chewing. “They wuh goeeng to keel you?” He shook his head, chewed a few more times, then swallowed. “They were going to kill you?”

  John nodded. “Mary… she was a brilliant geneticist. The best there was. They offered her a chance to identify genetic markers for some of the most heinous diseases in the world, followed by the opportunity to develop cures to rid the world of such illnesses. It was a dream job for her. I was a data analyst, offered a similar opportunity: using health records to spot trends in diseases in an effort to fend off rapid spread of communicable illnesses before they could decimate populations. I was elated.”

  Wesley studied the man’s face. There were no signs of tension, no indications that he meant to deceive. “You found out the good stuff would never happen.”

  He nodded. “The General had a knack of knowing which of us were there through deception, who would never have agreed to participate had we known the ultimate goals. He sent us coded, short messages, using means undetectable by Phoenix—and that’s saying something—and we realized the truth. Mary and I had never before met, but through the General’s communications we ended up trying to sneak out of their headquarters at the same time. Unfortunately, someone figured out what we were doing and our treasonous behavior landed us in their prison.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to go there, Wesley. Never. Not even your worst enemy deserves treatment like that.” He sighed. “The General freed us. I still don’t know how; I was so weak as to be nearly dead. Yet it seemed I fell unconscious one day in the prison and woke a free man under the General’s care.”

  Wesley stared at him. “So he was involved in Phoenix?”

  “He was a mole. He played his part as a member of the Phoenix team well, but his goal was always one of subtle mutiny. I don’t know how he maintained his image and visibility there and ran his various military units while doing it. Machine-like stamina, I guess.”

  “So what happened next with you and your… family?”

  John gave him an appraising gaze. “Wesley, you know they aren’t my family.”

  He shrugged. “The kids could pass for twins.”

  “They are. But they are not my children. Nor is Mary my wife.”

  “Yet you protect them.”

  “The children are… quite extraordinary. The General nursed us back to health. He said we’d been reported as dead and would need to remain incognito back in the real world, taking on new appearances and names. He cautioned us that if we, or anyone else, uttered our names… that could land him in serious trouble.” He sighed. “That’s why we can’t tell you. I’ll die before I say anything that might endanger the man who saved my life.”

  Wesley nodded. He’d always considered Micah Jamison something of a hero, and he didn’t even know the man’s full story. “The children?”

  “Jamison saved them as well. He told us that they were quite unique—something we’ve since confirmed—and that we needed to protect them from harm. When the time is right, we’d need to move and eventually get them back to a location we’d figure out when the time arrived.”

  “Cryptic.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You still don’t know what that means?”

  “Not a clue. But I suspect this is the right time.”

  “Nobody’s recognized you with your new look?”

  John smiled faintly and looked down at his hand. “When the machines hit, we ran, searching for transportation and saw a car still operational, impervious to the Ravagers. We decided to steal it from the owner; desperate times and desperate measures, you know. It was our bad luck that the owner turned out to be the General.”

 
Wesley stared. “You tried to steal a car from him?”

  “Pointed a gun at him and demanded the keys. Two seconds later he’d crushed my gun and shattered my wrist. He gave us keys to another car and access to medical supplies, said he needed that specific vehicle for his own use.”

  Wesley remembered watching the General drive the car into the lake and under the water here to the island. “Yeah. That was a special car.” He nodded at John and took another bite of the cake. Delicious. “How’d you end up here?”

  “We didn’t have a lot of time. Mary patched me up quickly and we drove the car the General left us to the dock and stole a boat stowed past the northern edge of the pier. I’m not a fan of stealing, but again… desperate times. We got away. I looked back a short time later and watched a batch of the machines explode from the pier and take out a couple of huge ships. We kept going. A storm hit. It tossed us around. We ended up here, saw unmistakable signs of current occupation, and approached with caution, especially when we heard you talking to Whiskey.”

  Wesley nodded. “You said before that you thought you recognized my voice.”

  “You reminded me of someone who sat through an orientation session years ago, but you clearly weren’t part of Phoenix.”

  Wesley sighed. “I think I was, actually. I think they used my mind as well. And then they stole my memories and fried my brain until I was insane. I’m remembering things now.” He shook his head. “It’s quite possible I’m the person you remember, but I wouldn’t recall ever meeting you.”

  “No judgement here, mate. I know how cruel they can be.” John held out his hand. “We good now?”

  Wesley considered. Then he put his fork down and shook hands. “We are.” He stabbed the last bit of meat from the plate and deposited it into his mouth, looked at the remaining vegetables, shrugged, and dumped them on the ground. “Looks like a storm’s headed this way. Probably best to head back inside and find some flashlights.”

  John nodded, stood, and headed through the door. Wesley paused long enough to take one more look at the storm clouds moving in from the direction of the mainland.