Cyber Dawn (A Ben Raine Novel)

by Adams, M. L.

  I slid down the ladder and jogged the perimeter. When I reached the back, after spotting no doors or corridors leading to other rooms or vaults, I stopped and exhaled heavily. It was just after nine-thirty. I had been on the CyberLife campus for more than an hour. Time was running short.

  I started around the final half of the cavern when a label caught my eye.

  T

  Carter called it the Alpha program. Titan was the official name. I ran down the aisle and found what I was looking for. A crate with TITAN scrawled on its label. Smaller text underneath read: ROLLINS.

  I pulled out the container, surprised at how heavy it was. I set it on the ground and peeled off the plastic top. Inside was a pile of books, various notepads, office supplies, a stack of old DVD-ROMs, and, to my surprise, a long dead and decayed houseplant. I frowned and pulled out one of the notepads.

  Meeting minutes.

  Not finding anything useful, I dropped the notepad back in the container and continued digging. A small white box was full of business cards.

  JANET ROLLINS, ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT.

  I looked at the labels on several other nearby crates.

  RICHARDS. RILEY. STEVENS.

  The crates are organized by employee, I realized.

  I snapped the lid back on and slid the container into its place on the shelf. I then pulled out the next one, rifled through it, and found the same type of materials. After checking several more containers from the bottom shelf, I had no reason not to believe Carter. It was clear security walked in and unceremoniously dumped each employee’s desk contents into a container. One of them even held a mummified sack lunch.

  I stepped back and looked up and down the row. There were hundreds of containers marked TITAN. I was about to hit the next one on the bottom shelf when I realized I was going about it wrong. I didn’t need to search every container.

  I walked along the aisle until I found the one I wanted.

  CARTER.

  Using another wheeled ladder, I climbed a third of the way up, pulled the container out, and carefully lowered it to the ground.

  It too was full of the same type of items as the others. Books, pencils, and paper clips. Typical office stuff. It wasn’t until the bottom that I found something interesting: a stack of journals held together by a large, thick rubber band.

  I flipped through the first journal. Little of it made sense. They were dated, though, so I hurried through the newer ones hoping to uncover something relevant to the Alpha program. In the third journal, I found a piece of paper stuffed in between the pages. An email dated a week before my first surgery.

  Dr. Merrick—My attempts to meet with you personally have failed. I know you are busy forming the team for the phase 2 Beta program, so please consider this email a record of my concerns. In reviewing the most recent batch of Alpha program candidates from Dr. Kaiser, I have some apprehensions. Like with the original pre-Alpha candidates, these newer ones have all been diagnosed with an extremely rare form of cancer. I did some research and determined that, the odds of these children, all roughly the same age, being diagnosed with this cancer in the same two-month period, are not only astronomical, but downright impossible. As you already know, I had some reservations with the original candidates that not all were as sick as Kaiser made them out to be. This most recent group has compounded my concerns to the point where I felt the need to approach you (again). I would like to discuss this as soon as possible. Perhaps before Alpha 7’s surgery on Monday? —Dr. Allen Carter

  A wave of nausea hit my stomach. I grabbed the shelving to steady myself as I read the email three more times. Each time I came to the same conclusion.

  I never had cancer.

  There was little doubt now. Even Carter thought Kaiser was sending CyberLife healthy kids.

  With shaky hands, I stuffed the letter into my pants pocket and the journals into my bag. I tossed the books and office supplies back into the plastic container, then dragged it up the ladder and into its original place on the shelf. I slid down and turned down the aisle, hoping the journals were enough.

  As I turned down the outside of the cavern, another idea hit me. I ran to the back of the aisle of Titan containers and climbed the ladder to roughly where the R’s should be.

  On the top shelf, I found it.

  REYNOLDS.

  I started to pull the container out when I realized my dilemma. Namely, the concept of gravity. I looked up and down the aisle to see if there was a mechanical lift sitting around. But other than me and the wheeled ladder, the aisle was empty.

  I looked up at the ceiling. It was so close I could almost touch it. Another idea struck me. There was a gap of at least five feet between the top of the shelf and the ceiling.

  Just enough room, I thought.

  I carefully pulled the container out and pushed it up the ladder to the top of the shelving. I climbed up after it, crouched under the cold rock ceiling, and quickly snapped the lid off.

  I pored through the contents, which ended up being mostly the same type of stuff I found in the other boxes. I set them aside and grabbed a glass picture frame. I sat back on my knees and stared. It was a picture of Megan. She wore a long, black dress and had her arm around some guy in a military uniform. I wondered if it was her brother. Or maybe a boyfriend. She had rarely talked to me about her personal life.

  A lump formed in my throat as my eyes lingered on the photo. I briefly thought about putting the picture in my bag, but instead placed it gently on the shelf next to the pile of books. The rest of the container was empty. I assumed that, since she wasn’t fired like the rest of the team, she had taken most of her stuff with her.

  While I paused to catch my breath, I flipped absently through several of the books. I stopped when one didn’t feel right.

  Too heavy.

  The book wouldn’t open, so I inspected the covers and spine. Part of the paper had started to peel away. I finished the process with my fingernail, which revealed a piece of metal. With a frown, I pulled my new multi-tool out of my bag and used the screwdriver to pry at it. After a few seconds of work, the book popped open. Only it wasn’t a book. It was a box. Inside was a computer hard drive.

  I pulled the drive out and inspected it. I didn’t know much about computer hardware, but had seen Megan mess with them a few times. If she had gone through the effort to hide it, it was important. I put it back into the fake book and placed it gently into my bag.

  As I began to reload Megan’s container, the sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut echoed through the cavern.

  I froze.

  A few seconds later, I heard the unmistakable sound of a radio and male voices.

  I was no longer alone.

  37

  “Team three, what’s your status?” a voice called through the radio.

  “We are in the vault,” a male replied. “Something tripped the lights. We’re checking it out.”

  The voice on the other end said, “Hurry it up, Jim. Automated sentries will be deployed at twenty-two hundred hours. Suggest you report back to your post ASAP.”

  “Roger that.”

  The sound of jogging footsteps echoed through the cavern. I was out of time.

  I lay down and pushed myself flat onto the top of the metal shelving. My only hope was that the sharp angle would prevent the guards from seeing me. And the fact they were in a hurry to avoid whatever the automated sentries were.

  “Damn sentries,” one of the guards said. “I don’t trust those things.”

  The second guard snorted, and replied, “I hear ya. It’s only a matter of time before one shoots somebody.”

  “Maybe that will convince Merrick they’re a bad idea.”

  “Yeah, right,” said the first guard. “Not likely. You know how much he loves his pet projects.”

  I peered over the side of the shelving. The guards were two aisles away and patrolling the outside of the cavern. From there, thanks to the bright lights I had apparently tripped, they were a
ble to see down each row of shelves without actually walking down the row itself.

  As the guards drew closer, I slid to the middle of the shelf. Megan’s crate was between me and them, providing some additional cover. Another half minute or so and the two men would be past my row and on their way back down the other side.

  I held my breath.

  “Hey, Scott,” said one guard, who I now assumed must be Jim. “Check that out. One of the crates is missing.”

  I grimaced.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Scott replied. “Nobody has been in the vault today. We would have noticed a missing crate on our last rounds, right?”

  Footsteps grew nearer. My heart raced.

  I’m screwed.

  “Should we call it in?” Jim asked.

  “Not yet,” Scott answered. “Let’s check it out first. Might just be up there on the top of the shelving. I’ve seen researchers do that when they were too lazy to get the lift and bring it down.”

  “You sure?” Jim asked.

  “Yeah. If we call it in,” Scott replied. “We’ll be stuck in here for the next hour while the boss sends some guys to investigate.”

  “Good point. You should go up there and check it out.”

  I heard Scott grumble something. Then the ladder started to shake.

  I turned my head and briefly considered climbing down the other side. But the metal shelving provided little in the way of grip and the containers were packed in so tight, footholds would be hard to come by. I decided it was better to be captured than dead.

  A gloved hand appeared and gripped the top of the shelf.

  A second hand followed.

  Then a black helmet.

  The guard peered over and spotted me instantly. My presence startled him. He jolted back and lost his grip on the shelf. Acting on instinct, I reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  The guard, now breathing as hard as me, recovered quickly. He opened his mouth to shout something, then clamped it shut. He stared at me, eyes wide.

  It took me a second to realize I recognized him. The guard who let me through the rear gate on Monday morning.

  His eyes flicked to the open container. He reached out and touched the white label with Megan’s name on it. For a moment his eyes lingered. I had seen and felt enough emotion over the previous week to recognize the shift in his eyes.

  He and Megan were friends?

  “You see anything, Scott?” called the guard from below.

  Scott turned his attention back to me. “Yeah!” He yelled back.

  I tensed.

  “The box is up here. Looks like I was right. Lazy researcher.”

  “Great,” the other guard grumbled.

  “Just give me a second to put it back in place.”

  “All right, but hurry,” Jim said. “I don’t want to be out and about when the sentries start rolling around.”

  Scott lifted a leg over the top of the shelving and climbed up. I slid back, close to the far edge, still too stunned to speak or even breathe. I kept my eyes locked on him.

  Without saying anything, he started putting Megan’s things back inside the container. I watched for a second, then tossed in a cup full of pens and pencils.

  “What in the hell are you doing here, Ben?” Scott whispered.

  “Trying to find out why Megan was killed,” I whispered back.

  Scott stopped and stared again. “What makes you think you’ll find the answers here?”

  “What did you say?” Jim called from below.

  “Nothing,” Scott yelled.

  “Want me to come up and help?”

  “Nah, I’m good. Just give me a sec.”

  He turned back to me, and said, “You’re crazy, Ben. I know you cared about Megan. Just let the police do their job.”

  Scott picked up the picture I found earlier.

  “CyberLife killed her,” I whispered.

  He didn’t deny it or look at me like I was crazy. He just continued staring at the picture. After a pause, he slowly nodded his head and gently placed it back in the container.

  He already knew, I thought.

  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. It wasn’t a coincidence that Scott was stationed at a closed pedestrian gate on Monday morning. He was there to help Megan get me out.

  “You can’t leave now, Ben,” he said. “Stay here and wait until morning. The automated sentries will be all over the place in a matter of minutes.”

  “Automated sentries?” I asked.

  “You seen the old Terminator movies?”

  “Yeah.” I had watched just about every cyborg-themed movie ever made. When I was younger, I used to run around the research campus and pretend I was a T-800.

  “We all joke that Merrick designed them after the ones in that movie. But it’s not really funny. They used some new experimental cybernetic programming. It doesn’t always work right. They’ve fired on guards a few times, which is why we all get pulled in when they are on patrol.”

  I swallowed hard. Cameras, motion sensors, and human guards were one thing. Homicidal robots hadn’t been in my plans.

  “Come on, Scott, hurry,” Jim called again. “We have less than ten minutes to get back.”

  “Coming,” Scott called down.

  I swallowed hard. “What should I do?”

  “Like I said, wait until morning. As long as you stay here, you’ll be fine. They are pulled in at six.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Scott finished loading the crate. He let out a deep sigh and lowered it over the edge. After sliding it in place, he turned and lowered his legs onto the ladder. “Megan said you were stubborn.”

  I nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Then be careful,” he said. “Stay in rocky areas and get to the perimeter fence as quickly as possible. The sentries generally stick to the walking paths. If you can get to rough ground, you should be able to outrun them.”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “Give us ten minutes to leave.”

  Just before his head disappeared down the side, I mouthed, “Why?”

  He didn’t reply.

  38

  I ran until I reached the star-gazing rocks. I leaned against one and paused to take several deep breaths. I pulled an energy drink out of my bag, popped it open, and drank it with one big gulp.

  Getting out of the building and through the sensor line had been easier than going in. I hadn’t spotted the automated sentries Scott warned me about. Now away from the building and the campus walking paths, I was confident the rugged terrain would make my escape easier.

  After a minute, I pushed away from the rocks and stepped down the hill.

  Thirty minutes and I’m home free, I thought.

  With the building lights behind me, I activated my night vision and scanned the forest ahead, looking for a clear path back to the fence.

  Suddenly, the ground beneath me trembled. At the same time, I heard the loud, continuous crunching of pine needles. I dropped to one knee behind a fallen tree and swiveled my head around. It took me two seconds to find the source of the noise. Rolling through a grove of aspen trees, less than forty feet away, was a large metallic object.

  Or, as Scott called it, a Terminator.

  Nothing I saw at that moment made me think he was just being overly dramatic. The sentry was large, maybe eight feet tall, and rolled on a pair of triangular shaped tank treads. A central armored pylon held two Gatling guns and an array of sensors and cameras.

  I flipped off my night vision just to be sure my system wasn’t playing a cruel trick on me. In the dark, the sentry was almost impossible to see. Its body was matte black and the only thing that gave away its position was a red light emitting from one of its sensors.

  A box on my HUD zoomed in and focused on the sentry. After several seconds, it still didn’t display any information. The only text read:

  Analyzing . . . analyzing . . .

  I glanced down at the tracking sphere, but it was comp
letely clear. The sentry emitted no network or GPS signal for my system to triangulate.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “Made it this far, only to be cornered by a frickin’ robot.”

  I peeked around a tree and watched the sentry. It rolled slowly up the hill at a diagonal from my position. It effectively cut off any chance I had of making it to the fence.

  Deciding I needed better cover, I crab-crawled back to the rock outcropping. A second before I arrived, the entire forest exploded.

  Bullets tore into the trees and rocks all around me. I flattened myself on the ground and crawled the final five feet on my stomach. Bullets smashed into the rocks just inches above my head. Shredded tree parts and rock chips rained down.

  I screamed, although I couldn’t hear it over the whine of the twin Gatling guns and impacting bullets. Unsure of what to do, I curled up into a ball, hoping to present as small a target as possible.

  I briefly considered surrendering, but didn’t know if the robot even understood the concept. Based on what Scott told me in the archive, more than likely, surrendering would just get me shot.

  A round ricocheted off the rock above me. An instant later, something heavy slammed into my lower body. It hit me so hard, I wasn’t even sure where. It reminded me of being creamed by Danny Brewer in football practice.

  With one hand, I reached down and felt around my legs. When I pulled it back, I sighed with relief. No blood. My pants were torn and inside I could feel a large gash in my synthetic liner. I reached into the gash and felt around. The metal was dented and scraped, but I didn’t think the bullet penetrated the shell.

  Suddenly, the gunfire ceased. The whirring sound of the guns gradually slowed, then stopped with a loud click.

  In the distance, alarms roared.

  The sentry rolled up the hill directly toward me. Smoke poured out its barrels. The unmistakable smell of gunpowder was overwhelming. The air was thick with the remains of shredded trees, shrub and powdered rock.

  When it was twenty feet away, it stopped, guns pointed directly at me.

  I still didn’t know if the concept of surrender was something it understood, but I didn’t have a lot of options. So far, my system was unable to hack in. And my only cover—the forest—was gone, mowed down by bullets.