She lets out a grunt. A wheeze. Falls backward into the water.
Jack targets the clutch of Glowcrab eggs. Puts a plasma round on top of it. Then those tens of thousands of embryonic freaks ain’t much more than a superheated omelet.
I hand Athena off to Catarina. Say, “Can you tuck her in? I’d like a smoke before bed.”
Catarina nods. “Of course.”
Jack claps me on the back. “We’ll hit Sikorsky in the morning. Not the one nearby. That’s a glorified helipad. The one in Stratford. The real facility. See what kind of tech got left behind. Then it’s Next Stop Boston. You dig?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
Whole thing’s getting kinda cozy. Relaxed.
And getting comfortable in this world means death.
* * *
The Sikorsky name is legendary. Igor Sikorsky invented the first practical helicopter. His company became the largest manufacturer. If you kept tabs on defense contracts, it was legendary for different reasons.
The whirlybirds dead US presidents used to scoot around on? Sikorsky. Black Hawks? Sikorsky. Lotta money going in and out of that place. Lotta UAV drones, too. You know the ones I mean: El Presidente used em to kill Americans without due process.
Fun times.
They put their choppers together in Stratford. Most of the workers were locals. That means there should be new tech to scavenge there. And we need new tech.
We take 95 to the Wasson connector. Go north. Hit the Merritt. Cross the Igor Sikorsky Memorial Bridge.
And there’s the chopper plant.
It’s a sprawling facility covering, I dunno, a couple acres at least. Place is packed with massive red-walled warehouses. Huge things. Then a gigantic series of runways and helipads in the back so cracked they look like broken skin. The Housatonic River flows around it all.
Catarina says, “Stop.” She turns me and Jack. “I’ll stay on the bridge. Provide overwatch.” She picks up the long case that holds her sniper rifle. It’s broken down in two parts, otherwise it wouldn’t even fit inside the tank. But it snaps together fast. Whatever spaceage suppressor she uses is the final piece.
She gives Jack a peck on the cheek. Climbs through the hatch. Waves to Juliet’s cameras. Says, “See ya, boys. Keep those ear pieces in.”
We push on. Toward the off-ramp that’ll get us to the parking lot.
I say to Jack, “She’s gonna be all right?”
Jack squints me. “Your mom knows what she’s doing.”
“Do we?”
“That’s way less certain.”
Catarina’s voice pipes up in our earpieces. “Lotta bodies on the runways. Lotta broken down helicopters, too.”
Jack tells her, “Keep us posted.” To me: “How do you wanna handle this?”
“Well, I was kinda hoping Catarina would stay with Athena—”
“Fat fuckin chance. That’s not your mom’s style.”
“But regardless the baby needs to stay in the tank. I want Plissken to come so we use his sensors. Inside could be tight. I want Lovelace and Turing to scavenge.”
“No arguments here.”
We stop outside the southern corporate entrance.
I check Athena’s diaper. See if she needs to be changed. She’s fine. All smiles.
Resilient little baby.
My carbon mesh suit feels good. Couple days without it left me feeling naked. Defenseless. Now... Feels like I’m back home. Mmm. And my guns. My beautiful guns. I put em in their rightful places. Revolver on my right hip. Government Automatic on my left.
Won’t find myself sniping indoors. So I leave the Ruger. Grab the Hellion. Inspect the mag well. Slap in the SMRT rounds instead of the Mercury. I can guess what they are, but I like being surprised sometimes.
I look to Jack. He checks his Colt. Spins it. Slides it into the holster on his right thigh. Checks his ammo. Makes sure his combat vest is secure. Otherwise, he’s just got that damn cowboy hat. Jeans. Boots.
I say, “That all you’re bringing?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You think I need more?”
Guess not.
I hear Plissken in the front of the cab. Arguing. My bot says, “Ridiculous. I would never do such a thing. I have to leave. Please monitor the human monkey baby.”
I say, “Trouble with the missus?”
He puffs this thrusters. That little sign of annoyance. Says, “She is convinced that I am going to find an attractive helicopter inside and elope.”
“That’s... That’s pretty weird there, bud. Didn’t realize robots could get jealous.”
“There are several grating aspects to her personality that I am discovering.”
“Just remind her who wears the pants in your family.”
“I have no legs.”
* * *
We take the Merritt exit. Park in front of the corporate office section of Sikorsky. Spot where bureaucrats made their deals with other bureaucrats. It’s mostly glass. With a blue sign above.
Ain’t nothing like the industrial we spied in back. Where the workers were. That’s a giant series of warehouses two and three stories high. Doesn’t look as pretty.
Grass crunches under my feet.
Jack takes right. His hand hovers over the handle of his six-shooter.
I take left. The Hellion bounces at my side.
We maintain a loose arrowhead formation with Plissken in the lead. Lovelace and Turing hold the rear. Their little turrets scan back and forth.
It’s good to be out with Plissken again.
Feels better than farting around inside a tank.
Oh, yes. Such a shame you had to take a break from your killing spree.
I mutter to myself. “Shut the fuck up.”
Jack glances. Doesn’t say anything.
I respond anyway. “Voice in my head.”
Jack says, “Long as it’s not a liability.”
The words sting. Can’t tell if it’s disapproval. Or something else.
Some advice from my old man would be nice.
I don’t even know why I care.
You’re big baby butthurt cuz you’re not alone anymore and you’ve actually got parents and you can’t just be the angry sole-survivor with a broken heart who drowns his sorrows in booze. You got responsibilities now, asshole. Ain’t just your dick on the line. It’s mine, too.
I say, “Maybe.”
We hit the front doors. They’re locked. And none of the glass is broken.
Jack says, “This is strangely normal... Shit, it looks like they’re just closed for the day. The place is in perfect shape.”
I grunt. “Plissken, can you cut these doors?”
He sets his arc welder against the metal frame. Says, “I can do more than that, meatbag. My scanners are picking up electromagnetic signals. No living heat signatures. But there is certainly something here.”
“Other AIs maybe? Advanced military tech like Juliet?”
“Possible.”
Jack says, “Maybe we caught someone on a coffee break.”
The doors swing open. Plissken floats inside.
Jack hugs the walls. Keeps his eyes on the halls to our left and right.
Lovelace and Turing scurry around our legs.
The lobby’s spotless. Weak sunlight from outside pours through the two-story windows. It bounces off polished dark marble floors. It shows us banners with cheeseball bravado like SIKORSKY: WE SET THE BAR HIGHER with a smiling pilot in the cockpit of his chopper. Another proclaims that the Chinese ordered sixty S-112 whirlybirds. And oh shit, ain’t that great.
I have no idea what it means. Other than: The Chinese gave this company a lotta money.
There’s something called the “Sikorsky Heritage Center” farther in the administration lobby that I kinda want to s
tare at but doubt I’ll get the chance to.
Plissken turns to Lovelace and Turing. Says, “You two stay out of trouble. I’m streaming the feeds from your cameras into my databanks, so I’ll know if you do not listen.”
Their screens flash then they take off.
Jack lifts the brim of his hat. He goes through the receptionist’s desk. Flips through the calendar there. “Whoever sat here took serious notes each day after the start of infection.” He motions me over and points.
He ain’t wrong. And they’re not crazy-person notes either.
The handwriting is neat. Clear. Detailed. There’s a date marked OUTBREAK. Day the infection finally got here. Under it reads MOVING BIRDS TO PADS. PILOTS ENGAGED. BUILDING LOCKDOWN.
Most of the notes keep track of resources. Troop movement. The situations in the various buildings. WAREHOUSE C BREACHED.
Jack says, “Sikorsky’s relationship with the United States of Christ explains the troop presence here. Marine detachment.”
We flip through. Two months after OUTBREAK it reads WATER SUPPLIES AT 50%. NEED TO PROCESS LIQUIDS FROM HOUSATONIC.
I say, “For an impromptu fuckin colony, it seems like they were doing okay. Two months of being stranded and they only went through half their water.”
Jack says, “Marines keep their shit tight. Strong military presence plus training.”
“Or there wasn’t very many of em.”
“Maybe. I bet choppers made scavenging easier.”
“Military woulda grabbed em.”
“It’s a chopper plant. They could just make more.”
“Counterpoint. What’s the last date that’s filled out?”
“Uhh... Today.”
“Goodie gumdrops.” I rub my forehead. That means someone’s still here. Or probably still here. “The fuck do we do now?”
Jack smiles. Flicks his hat. “We go say hello.”
Key issue here is whether or not saying hello results in gunfire. But I’d like to see my old man in a firefight. Might be fun. Might even be fun to fight with him instead of against him.
Aww. Getting those warm fuzzies in your tummy.
This fuckin annoying voice? I know the bastard’s still here. But not as often. Not as blistering. Something’s different. He’s more of a pussy.
You’re the pussy... Pussy. Butt.
See?
Jack taps his in-ear piece. “Cat? How you doing, Cowgirl? We’re gonna push farther into the plant. See what’s what. Look for tech on the factory floor.”
I hear Catarina say: “I’m bored, Cowboy. I’ve been sniping zombies. Gonna head back for Juliet and check Athena. Maybe grab a Hellion and join you guys.”
“What’s your kill count right now?”
“Thirty-four. I’m Oscar Mike, Cowboy.”
Jack smiles. “Right on, Cowgirl.”
I look at him. Say, “Mom’s a special gal, ain’t she.”
“You’ve never dated a Hispanic woman, have you? Take point. I’ll be right behind.”
Plissken hovers next to me. I know he’s checking his radar.
I ease into the hallway at the back of the lobby. Hellion tucked against my cheek. 6.5mm SMRT rounds ready to go. I say to Plissken, “Movement?”
“Nothing.”
I let the Hellion swing at my side. Light a cigarette. Keep my eyes peeled but don’t act so uptight. Cuz, hell, I’m badass.
Gotta not act too military.
Respond military as fuck, though.
Now you’re liking having your dad around, eh?
“Yeah. I am.”
Jack says, “Can I ask you a question?”
“I hate it when people say that. Obviously you’re capable of asking a question.”
“How long were you alone up there on the Empire State Building.”
“You guys were keeping tabs?”
“We called in some favors. Got a report. We learned when the outbreak started. We knew you’d survive. We weren’t worried about that. But the fastest we could get to you... We were all on-mission for The Collective.”
I stop in front of the doors to the first warehouse. “A long time, man. Long time.” I take a drag from my cigarette. Cuz, hey, that’s what cool guys do when they’re feeling shitty about literally everything in their life. “I felt abandoned.”
I can’t stop thinking about her. Or about Sean. Ben. Fred.
Poor goddamn Fred.
Plissken’s used to this when I’m so drunk I’m sideways. But I’m sober. Which I ain’t been in a while. That gives my bot pause.
Jack touches my shoulder.
The front doors of the lobby open. I see the silhouette of my mother. She walks toward us.
I say to my father... I say to Jack: “What the fuck am I?” And I’m trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. “Why did you do this to me?”
Jack wraps his hand around the back of my neck. Smiles for a brief second. He says, “You’re a mutt. You’re an American. You’re a New Yorker. None of that really matters. You’re my son.” He points to Catarina. Says, “You’re her son.
“We have shit we need to do. Fight now. Cry later.”
I nod. Try not to look like a sissy. All red-eyed and weepy cuz I always wanted a family and they’re finally fuckin here.
Only way too late.
Catarina wraps her arms around me. Around Jack.
She kisses my forehead. “We’re here now. I’m sorry about what happened.” She eyeballs Jack. “We both are. We can only control so much. I promise we won’t leave you again.”
Plissken turns to us. “I do not know who any of you people are right now.”
I say, “All right, all right.” I wipe my eyes. Give Catarina and Jack kisses on their cheeks.
You looooooove mommy and dadd—
Shit’s not happening anymore. I think you’re some left over chunk of grief. Some undigested nightmare from my subconscious. Go fuck yourself. I can be whole. I can heal my wounds.
For the record, you’re wrong. But I’ll shut my mouth a bit.
Plissken says, “Movement on the other side of the door.”
There’s no hesitation. Me, Catarina and Jack all get our weapons up. We’re a unit.
Anything near the door will die.
I push it open.
A beautiful woman stands in front of me. She points a gun at my head.
But at least she’s not my mom!
She stares at us through a holographic sight attached to an M4 assault rifle variant.
She says, “Hi there. Who the hell are you?”
18. Son Of a Dick
Goddamn.
The woman’s in her mid-thirties. Looks American Indian. I know the Pequot reservation’s close enough to this area.
She’s got high cheekbones. Heart-shaped face. Black hair. Full hips. Nice bust. And a lotta tan skin I got an urge to touch hidden under a black jumpsuit.
She says, “Stay where you are. Any closer and I will kill your dicks.”
Her finger’s on the trigger.
I grimace at her. Frustrated. Like I’ve already been shot down as far as romance is concerned. I say, “What? What does that even mean? You’re gonna kill my dick? My dick’s suffered too much as it is. I’ll kill your dick. How about that, huh?”
Plissken groans. “That will certainly endear you to her.”
Name tape on the woman’s chest reads: DEVILLE.
Jack says, “Hang on there. Calm down.”
DeVille says, “Don’t tell me to calm down, motherfucker. How about I barge into your house with a couple gun-toting goons and then tell you to calm down?”
Jack shrugs. “Fair point.” He keeps his gun on her. “Doesn’t change the situation though.”
Catarina says, “Okay. Bad start. Let’s try
again.” She slings her Hellion. Motions for me and Jack to do similar. She says to DeVille: “We were looking for supplies. We hoped to find abandoned miltech. We’ve got a tank. Three tanks, actually. But two are babies. We need instruments and materials for them.”
DeVille says, “Baby tanks.”
“Yeah.”
“Baby tanks.”
“Yeah.”
“You think I’m an idiot?”
Now I don’t even know if I really wanna pursue this woman anymore. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Say, “Fuckin... Annoying.” I tap Plissken. “Tell Lovelace and Turing to meet us here. Have Juliet pull up to the doors.”
Plissken says, “Because the idea of introducing my children to a homicidal stranger is so appealing.” But he does anyway.
DeVille squints at Plissken. “Baby tanks and their dad is an old advertising drone.”
I say, “He was never an advertising drone. He worked at the New York Public Library, Pocahontas.”
Catarina smacks me. “Knock off the racist misogyny shit. You’ve been pretty bad about that.”
“Fuckin hell, mom. All right.” I look back to DeVille. “Yeah, he’s their dad. Big Momma Tank is outside. I wouldn’t piss her off. She’s got a plasma cannon.”
DeVille points to Catarina. “And she’s your mom.”
Jack says, “It’s complicated.”
DeVille cocks her head. “I gathered.”
Turing and Lovelace tear around the corner. They’re different. A little bigger. Beefed up by a foot or so each and with bigger turrets. Their emoticon displays are still there. Both show:
Ain’t baby tanks anymore. Toddler tanks now.
Plissken looks down at them. “Very good.”
Catarina says, “Guess they found what they were looking for. Fast little tinkerers, aren’t they?”
Plissken puffs his thrusters. Turns to her. Says, “Of course they’re fast. They’re efficient. But they need more. They want more.”
DeVille takes a knee near Turing. “Amazing. I’ve always had a special relationship with machines. Ever since I was a kid. That’s what kept me alive here.” She reaches out to touch his paneling.
A Man and His Robot Page 16