Steelheart

by William C. Dietz

  "You're an idiot," Zenth put in, "which is why they sent you here."

  "And what of you?" Tortna inquired caustically. "Did your beauty make them jealous?"

  Zenth had lost her right rear leg in a duel and, while equipped with a nano-generated prosthesis, still felt the loss. Not just to her mobility—but to her attractiveness. Her mandibles clacked angrily. "Stay right there, Tortna... I'm going to..."

  "Do absolutely nothing," Enore interjected forcefully. "Because the eggs come before all else."

  It was the single issue upon which everyone could agree.

  "Enore speaks truth," Tortna said humbly. "I retract my comment and apologize."

  "Accepted," Zenth responded. "Please continue."

  Enore knew she had triggered the conflicts and wished she had better leadership skills. Or better yet, that someone else had leadership skills, and was willing to use them. No such entity existed, however... which left no choice. She lowered her head and assumed a posture of respectful submission.

  "Our eggs are threatened. The quakes that killed Prog and Oso have abated to some extent—but the tremors continue. The mean ground temperature has fallen below optimum levels and continues to drop.

  "In the meantime the Zid continue to expand the size of what they refer to as the 'holy lands.' Though focused on the humans for the moment, our turn will come soon enough.

  "The Blues have taken the throne—and with it control of the fleet. Repeated requests for evacuation have fallen on deaf receptors."

  Rota whistled respectfully. "No offense, Enore, but we are well acquainted with the extent of our misery."

  Enore used her antennae to request patience. "I will come to the point. Extreme circumstances justify extreme measures. No one is willing to help us—so we must help ourselves. I recommend what some would describe as a radical plan.

  "In spite of the fact that the free humans are in a state of disarray—and cut off from their hive—they possess technology as sophisticated as ours. By joining forces with the aliens, we could limit Zid expansion, explore the possibility of a mutual evacuation strategy, and foster technological collaboration. Who knows? By combining the skills of both species, we might be able to repair the atmosphere. It's worth a try."

  There was a moment of silence while the other Mothri absorbed what Enore had said—followed by a storm of countervailing static. The debate had begun.

  The woman known as Android Annie blew a wisp of gray hair away from her eyes and scanned the terrain ahead. The "bring 'em nears," as she liked to call them, were of her own design. A pair of zoom lenses salvaged from a model fifteen had been wired to a makeshift power supply and control system. The result was a nonstandard but efficient pair of electronic binoculars. According to her map, the best that trade tech could buy, they were approximately fifty miles north of the holy lands, and well inside bug territory.

  Visibility was limited by the steady drive of dirty brown sleet, but Annie was used to that. The ground beyond the cluster of rocks where she and her apprentice lay hidden was smooth—too smooth to be natural—which, when combined with the conical structure at the center, confirmed her theory. The half-crazy hermit was right.... A Mothri repository lay below!

  It was an exciting and potentially profitable discovery. Annie lowered her binoculars and turned to her assistant. Becka was bright though willful at times. "So, scrap, time to see what if anything you have learned. What are we looking at?"

  "The top of a Mothri repository," the girl said, her face nearly invisible behind a ragged scarf.

  "Good," Annie said approvingly. "How can you tell?"

  "The ground is smooth where the robots groomed the surface, the sleet melts faster, and the cone contains a ventilation shaft."

  Annie turned, saw that the child was correct, and frowned. The sleet-melt had escaped her. Had she missed anything else? Something that would get her killed? Nothing frightened the old woman more than the increasing infirmity that accompanies old age. There was no sign of the dark invader yet—but Annie maintained a constant vigil. She forced a smile. "Excellent, my dear, just excellent. Now, having located this treasure trove, how can we best exploit it?"

  Becka eyed her mentor. This was the hardest part, what Annie referred to as "plottin' and plannin'," or "the two P's." But master it she must if she hoped to survive and follow in Annie's sizeable footsteps. "There are three options. We could leave, recruit some mercenaries, and launch a full-scale assault on the repository. There are risks, however, including the very real possibility that we would lose, that the mercenaries would turn on us, or that the entire complex would be destroyed, eliminating what could have been an ongoing source of food and revenue."

  The words had a rehearsed quality, as if memorized, but there was nothing wrong with that. Annie nodded. "Yes, go on."

  "We could sell the location to others, which while somewhat safer than option one, still raises many of the same objections."

  "Or?"

  "Or we could steal one egg and one robot—thereby transforming the repository into our own private bank. Small withdrawals, made over a long period of time, will create wealth without attracting the wrong sort of attention."

  "Brilliant!" Annie said proudly. "What a smart little scrap you are! Now for the hard part. We must cross the open space, lower you down the shaft, and retrieve an egg. Are you ready?"

  Becka was frightened, so frightened she wanted to pee, but the larder was empty, and her stomach rumbled like distant thunder. The thought of scrambled Mothri egg, flavored with dehydrated onion, filled her mouth with saliva. She nodded.

  "Good!" Annie said enthusiastically. "The plottin' and plannin' are over. Now comes the goin' and doin'."

  Enore had expected some debate, but was surprised by the extent of it. Especially in light of the fact that the other option—sit there and do nothing—was so obviously wrong. That didn't stop Rota, however, who was in mid-rant.

  "There is no precedent for such an alliance! The Mothri stand alone. So it is and so it shall ever be! Once formed, who can say where such a pact might take us? One need look no further than our relationship with the Blues to see where accommodation can lead."

  Enore felt her implant start to tingle. Security had been breached, robots were on their way, and her presence was requested. Cognizant of the fact that the outcome of the debate was far from certain, and concerned lest her absence tip the balance in the wrong direction, the Mothri ignored the page.

  "Rota's right," Huubath put in. "Dangers abound. Besides, by what authority would we enter such an alliance?"

  "By the authority of the egg," Tortna replied thoughtfully. "An imperative more legitimate than a decree from the Blue throne."

  "Yes, I can see that," Zenth allowed. "But authority is one thing ... the humans are another. All of our surveillance nano report the same things: The humans bicker among themselves and listen to Zid theology. What can they offer?''

  Enore had anticipated the objection—and was ready with a response. "Zenth is correct. The humans do bicker among themselves—and some have joined the Church. There are exceptions, however—important exceptions, such as the facility known as 'Mountain That Is Flat.' Nano-supplied video will support my argument."

  Enore vanished off their screens, video appeared, and her implant continued to tingle.

  A layer of sleet had started to form on the north side of Android Annie's face. She had pale blue eyes, wrinkles that exploded down across her cheeks, and a smear of snot just below her nose. “You okay, scrap?''

  Becka looked down from her perch at the top of the cone and wondered about their relationship. Did Annie think of her as the daughter she'd never had, the way she claimed to? Or did the old woman simply need someone small and agile, someone she could drop into dangerous places while she remained safe and sound? There was no way to be sure.

  The girl nodded, checked to ensure that the homemade harness was properly secured, and lowered herself into the pipe. The rope ran up and over th
e lip of the shaft. A specially designed fitting had been secured to the cone's rim to protect the rope from wear and to provide Annie with extra leverage. Just one of the many details on which her success depended.

  As the atmosphere cooled, the Mothri had been forced to heat their repositories, and Becka enjoyed a constant flow of warm air as she dropped through the tube. A sure sign that unlike the cold, dark caverns they had explored the month before, this farm was "live." Becka remembered the sulfur stench of still-rotting eggs, the slight phosphorescent glow of the half-crushed Mothri, and the already looted egg chambers.

  Becka shivered in spite of the warmth, felt her boots touch ground, and gave three tugs on the line. She received a one-tug response, freed herself from the rope, and ducked out of the shaft.

  The girl knew that there were robots all around, machines so small she couldn't see them, but all calling for help. Killer droids, each larger than she was, and heavily armed.

  Becka had five minutes, maybe less, to locate what she had come for, grab it, and make her escape. A nearly absurd plan, except for the fact that she and her mentor had explored one repository and knew the way it was laid out.

  The tunnel was dim, very dim, but the ever-provident Annie had thought of that, and equipped Becka with two headband-mounted flashlights. Overlapping circles of light illuminated earthen walls as she turned and jogged down a corridor.

  The first repository had been laid out in a star- or asterisk-shaped configuration with the Mothri's quarters, control rooms, and maintenance facilities located at the center, while arms pointed outward and rooms branched to either side. Looters had pillaged the other storage facility by the time the twosome arrived, leaving little more than equipment racks, ugly graffiti, and smashed eggs.

  So, given the straightforward design, it should be a relatively easy task to enter the first compartment she came to, grab an egg, and retrace her footsteps.

  Egg rooms appeared to the left and right. Becka was right-handed and instinctively turned in that direction.

  The compartments had been dug with machinelike precision—not too surprising, given that robots had done all the work. A central aisle provided access to opposing racks. They had been excavated rather than built, with each egg resting within its own carefully scooped depression.

  Each egg was a work of biological art, its shell covered with a swirl of blue, gray, and green, as unique as a human fingerprint. Like that which they protected, the casings were valuable, and were worth a fortune to anyone who had the means to move them. Still, one was better than none, and would be cut into sections and sold. Not the center of Annie's enterprise—but a profitable sideline.

  Becka inspected the lowest row of eggs, chose what she judged to be the smallest, and gathered it into her arms. Alarms went off. Hundreds of tiny flea-sized nano swarmed over the top of her boots, found their way up into her pants, and clamped mechanical jaws onto her unprotected flesh. Surprised, and reeling from the excruciating pain, Becka screamed.

  Enore seethed with impatience. Someone, or something, had invaded her domain and was stealing an egg. She wanted to go there, and would have, except for the fact that video of the human research facility had brought Zenth over to her side. More than that, Tortna was wobbling, and Rota was within reach. It seemed that an agreement could be had. If she kept them focused, if she. kept her temper, if they made an honest attempt to understand. The conference continued— as did the torture it caused.

  Becka's skin felt as though it was on fire, and blood had soaked the tops of her socks, but she staggered on. The egg was slippery with her sweat and weighed a ton. Screaming helped, as did swearing, so she switched back and forth. Annie knew plenty of swear words, so the child had lots to pick from.

  The corridor ended. She ducked into the shaft, placed the egg on the ground, and clipped the rope to her harness. Becka wanted to stop, rip her clothes off, and deal with the nano. It would be a mistake, however, a possibly fatal mistake, and she refused to make it.

  Becka lifted the egg, cradled it in her arms, and tugged on the rope. The slack disappeared, the line grew taut, and the girl rose six inches into the air. The nano continued to attack. Becka's head started to swim, and she bit through her lip.

  Annie swore, heaved on the rope, and swore again. Becka, plus the egg, totaled a hundred pounds or more—a problem that would grow worse as the preteen grew older. Logic dictated that she dump the girl for someone younger, a biddable little boy would be nice, but Annie continued to procrastinate.

  Becka heard a scrabbling sound, knew what it meant, and screamed Annie's name. She was six feet off the ground by then—with ten to go.

  The attack robot bore a striking resemblance to its creators, right down to the ovoid shell, six legs, and willowy tool-arms. The machine thrust the front end of its body into the shaft, clacked its anodized mandibles, and scratched for traction. The robot pushed, earth crumbled, and the machine entered the shaft.

  Like the bodies upon which it was modeled, the machine could pull itself up into a vertical stance. Servos whined as the robot moved, grabbed for one of Becka's boots, and missed.

  Frustrated, and concerned lest the thief escape, the machine activated its offensive weaponry. It had two highly flexible laser projectors in place of antennae, and would have no difficulty burning a hole through the intruder's spine.

  But what of the egg? The human would almost certainly drop and destroy it. No, it was better to send a message to the surface, and hope for a rescue.

  The robot watched the human twirl at the end of the rope. She used her boots to push herself away from the wall—and clung to the egg. Three drops of blood fell, splattered across the machine's video receptors, and started to dry.

  Enore terminated the conference call, spent little more than a couple of seconds savoring her victory, and rushed to rescue her egg. A quick review of nano-supplied video revealed that the robbery was almost complete—a robbery engineered and carried out by members of the very species with whom she had recommended that the Mothri align themselves. The irony of it stung.

  Enore even considered going up to the surface, tracking the miscreants down, and punishing them herself. The only problem was that it would take too long to open one of the carefully sealed entrances. No; justice, if such was to be found, would come via the machines who served her.

  Orders were issued, additional machines were dispatched, and Enore thought about her egg. Special egg, lovely egg, person that could have been.

  Becka welcomed the feel of sleet on her face. Sleet and cold, cold air. The shaft opened to the sky, the rim came near, and the rope continued to hold the girl's weight as Annie tied it off. The stake that she had driven for that exact purpose moved slightly, held, and took the strain.

  Becka's screams had been reduced to little more than whimpers by the time Annie appeared against the cold gray sky, took the egg, and disappeared.

  There was a moment during which Becka thought she'd been deserted, left for the robots to find, but Annie returned, took the girl's arms, and pulled her out. The child felt a sense of relief. "They're all over my legs, Annie .. .biting and chewing!"

  Annie looked down, saw the blood on Becka's boots, and swore a terrible oath. "Hang in there, scrap. I'll pick them off you, but not till we reach the cave. Okay?"

  Becka tested her legs, felt them respond, and nodded her head. "Okay, but let's hurry. The pain makes me dizzy."

  Annie regretted leaving the rope, but knew there was no time to retrieve it. She clutched the egg to her ample bosom, shuffled toward the escape route, and prayed there was time.

  The robot, one of many permanently assigned to the surface, had been three standard units away from the point of incursion when the call came in. Moving as quickly as it could, the machine made its way through an icy arroyo, over a flood-ravaged gravel bar, and up an embankment.

  The hunter-killer unit saw the intruders the moment it came over the rise. They appeared as objects, sources of heat and, in one
case, minimal electromagnetic activity. The machine could have neutralized the fugitives right then ... but an egg was at risk, and eggs had priority.

  Becka looked back over her shoulder, saw the insectoid robot, and urged her mentor to greater speed. "Hurry, Annie ... I see a robot. A big one!"

  The older woman was in excellent shape for someone of her age, but saw no reason to expend energy looking backwards. "Don't worry, scrap. I can handle up to three of the blasted things. Get ready to take the egg. We'll switch on the far side of the big rock.''

  The girl gritted her teeth against the pain in her legs, rounded the boulder, and took the egg. The top surface was covered with sleet. Becka put her head down and shuffled forward. Mucus ran over her mouth, tears trickled across her cheeks, and her socks were squishy with blood.

  Annie watched the girl depart and marveled at her courage. She had heart, Becka did... and that meant a lot. So much that there could be no trading her in. Maybe they'd locate another orphan and add her to the team.

  The robot hurried forward, rounded the side of an enormous rock, and was greeted by an unusual sight. The human stood there, a mop of gray, almost white, hair blowing in the wind, her body indistinguishable under layers of ragged clothing. The alien held something in her hand—something shiny. A weapon? The machine's CPU confirmed the possibility, brought the droid's weapons systems on-line, and removed the safeties.

  The machine and the human fired at virtually the same moment, except that Annie was a fraction of a second faster, and the bolt from the carefully calibrated stunner scrambled the robot's CPU. Robbed of its centrally controlled systems and processes, the droid collapsed.

  The human hurried over, ran a hand along the machine's flank, found what she'd been searching for, and inserted the specially shaped tool. A compartment popped open, and a control panel was revealed.

  Annie selected what she knew to be the correct slot-switches, double-checked to make sure that she was correct, and applied the tool to several places in quick succession. The goal was to kill the machine's emergency locater beacon and place the robot's CPU on standby until she could modify it. A self-taught skill that made all the difference.