Heretic: Archangel Project. Book Three

by C. Gockel

  James's jaw twitched.

  “Ha, ha, ha!” Noa said in truly horrid faux laughter. “Your impostor premier's scans won't even work after the last election two days ago.”

  James winced—at her acting, and the terrible lie.

  The 'bots wheels whirred. “I know nothing of this election!”

  Grinning down at it, Noa said, “Because we don't use the ether!”

  The 'bot's head spun around to James. “But if you have her, why do you need the premier agent?”

  James's jaw fell as he looked for a lie.

  “Lizzar dung,” Noa muttered. Halting in front of him, she drew back a foot, and an instant later, the 'bot that had been rolling beside her went flying against the wall.

  “Enough of that!” James shouted, yanking her back by the shoulder.

  “I'll never stop fighting!” Noa cried. “You'll need the blue-green slime to keep me in line!”

  “That's the idea!” said James, hoping he sounded more authentic.

  A speaker in the corner cracked. “I see where you may need help containing her. But couldn't you use 'bots?”

  “Errr ...” said Noa.

  “Of course not,” James replied. “‘Bots would be immediately recognized.”

  The speaker buzzed, “You're right. We'll need her—and the premier's agent. But I don't like it, James.”

  James found himself faltering. “I don't like it, either.” Eight shouldn't be so easy to fool. His hand clenched on Noa's shoulder, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. He stood immobilized. All his circuits surged with the wrongness of it. Eight's refusal to compromise was what saved James. True, James might have been able to upload himself—but could a never-ending dream, even if it was pleasant, really be life? And his body was an important part of himself. It made him helpless and gave him agency, gave him pleasure and pain. Without it, wouldn't he just be an app flitting in the processors of a gate, ready to be shut down on a whim?

  “James?” Noa whispered.

  Eight's voice buzzed over an intercom. “Do you still want to do this?”

  James felt Noa's muscles tense beneath his fingers, and his hand shook. Eight's refusal to compromise would ensure a war that would destroy all the gates, the agents James had come to care about … it would destroy him, too, eventually. This was his one chance not just to live, but to live with Raani, Anita, Dmitri, and the others.

  “I'm sure,” James murmured. “But I hate it.”

  Noa turned her head. In the profile of her face, he didn't see anger. She only looked sad. With her bound hands, she reached back and dragged her fingertips against his stomach. He glanced down at where Kenji's betrayal had cost her her wedding rings and smallest finger. On Luddeccea she could have gone back to him. Kenji had promised to supervise her “re-education.” She probably would have been safe if she'd just accepted his madness.

  Giving Noa a shove, he said gruffly, “Let's go.”

  James heard the skitter of metal feet behind him. He didn't turn to look, but an app told him he was being followed by five eight-legged 'bots. He jerked Noa's shoulder around a corner and they entered what had been the main concourse. The seating and ticketing areas were now covered with 'bots.

  “Nebulas,” Noa whispered, and she drew back against him.

  James swallowed. For the first time, he saw them through her eyes. Made of scraps, none of the writhing machines in the vast area were exactly like any other. Some of them rolled on wheels, or skittered proficiently on four or more legs, but others wobbled and fell, falling over one another and what remained of the furniture in masses of writhing bodies. The scene might have been more comical than frightening if the ones that were mobile didn't carry weapons and have limbs outfitted with gleaming blades. The space echoed with their motors, the rat-a-tat of metal on linoleum, and the squeak of wheels. It smelled like grease and burnt rubber. As James and Noa entered, the mobile ones swiveled their cameras and rolled, skittered, hopped, and in one case, hovered in their direction.

  “Come on,” James said, giving Noa another push.

  They walked through the 'bots without speaking, and then James had a sudden concern. “Do we need food?”

  “There is plenty of food on Luddeccea,” Eight said, its voice booming over several speakers at once, and repeated in the tinny tones of hundreds of 'bots.

  “Not if we blow it all up!” James said, steering Noa toward one of the concourse gift shops. He almost walked past Noa in his haste to pull foodstuffs from the shelves, but then remembered she was supposed to be his prisoner. Pointing down at a few of their 'bot shadows, he said, “Watch her!” and ran into the shop. Slinging the duffel around, he unzipped it before he realized that Carl Sagan was still inside. For a moment he hesitated, waiting for the beast to attack him again, but the werfle curled in a corner, only observing him, whiskers twitching. Did it understand they were on the same “team” again? Had it learned in its short associations with humans to detect betrayal better than a time gate that could plot rifts in time that let space ships slip through light-years in an instant? Shaking off his inconvenient musings, he began stuffing the duffel bag with all the non-perishable goods left in the shop. A few minutes later, he grabbed Noa and started off again, duffel strapped on his back, but this time open just enough for Carl Sagan to poke his head out. Several well-armed 'bots followed at their feet … he hadn't counted on them … And his chronometer was telling him they had only minutes left.

  Noa glanced warily from side-to-side as James “dragged” her through yet another room filled with tall, tightly packed, narrow servers that were humming and blinking. At least she guessed they were servers—they were about a centi thick, set in meter-wide panels taller than Noa by several heads, and they blinked and hummed with activity. There were rows upon rows of them in either direction.

  One of Eight's 'bots skidded over her foot. Nearly tripping, Noa glared at the awkward amalgamation of metal and poly. Its four jointed metal legs were attached to a rice cooker that had been sawed in half. On top of that was a spinning “head” of cameras. It would be amusing, except for the knives protruding from the serrated edges of the split section. She ducked her head as though trying to scratch her chin on her shoulder, and inspected the others. None had phasers built in as far as she could see. This section of the gate might have unfortified walls and Eight was trying to avoid a breach—or maybe Eight had fallen completely for their ridiculous story and it didn't want her dead—at least, not yet.

  One of the 'bots began to hum and launched itself off the ground right at Noa's nose. She turned her head quickly. They hadn't planned on being shadowed by anything other than the cameras … everything depended on Eight believing James was on his side as long as possible. They needed to do something about the 'bots, but she couldn't use the ether to formulate a plan with James.

  James tugged her down a service way between the stacks of machinery. It was so cramped the 'bots had to stay a few paces behind. Up ahead, she saw a door with a window that was frosted over. Glancing at her surroundings, Noa suddenly had a plan. An app within her calculated the steps to the end of the row of machines, and she snapped her fingers for James's attention.

  Six more steps to go. She snapped her fingers one more time, and used the five fingers of her right hand to count down, hoping that James saw and understood. Five more steps, four more, three, two, one.

  Tearing from James's grip, Noa gave a scream of rage and darted left into the next aisle over. “She's loose!” James declared. Standing dead in the center of the other aisle, blocking the path of the 'bots just long enough for Noa to brace her back against the server between them and push. It was bolted to the floor—which she expected—but she hadn't expected it not to give at all. “Dung beetles!” Noa cursed as she heard the hoovering 'bot dart above her head.

  “You're tripping me!” James cried, and she heard several thuds in rapid succession, and what sounded like metal being crushed. The server she leaned against wobbled, and a ho
overing 'bot spun near her nose. It emitted a pitched noise and a bolt of whip-like electricity spun out from its core. Noa had never seen anything like it—but on instinct dodged to the side. Heat singed the side of her face, and she smelled burnt hair. Grimacing, back to the server, she gave a final desperate push and was rewarded with a feeling of vertigo, and an instant later she toppled backward with the machine. Noa's heart fell when it connected with the server across the aisle, and didn't fall farther. The angle wasn't low enough to crush the 'bots! Just as she had that thought, Noa heard a crack, and then she was falling again, and this time she heard the crunch of metal and poly as her jaw rattled with the impact of the huge machine striking Eight's mechanical shadows. The hover in the air screamed and rolled fast in the opposite direction and she barely missed being struck by an electric whip again. Her hands were still bound and she fumbled with the key. Struggling to her feet, she heard James shout, “I've got this!”

  Spinning toward him, she found herself staring down the barrel of a stunner aimed at her head in what would be a death blow. Her eyes went wide. Had he changed his mind? He'd hesitated earlier. In the milliseconds in which she had this thought, she saw his finger pull the trigger and she smelled electricity, felt all the hairs on her head stand on end, and felt the heat of the painful electrical charge on her right ear. She gasped. She'd only been nicked … and in a spot that was too poorly innervated to knock her flat. From behind her rose a sound like a million blood-gnats in an insect zapper.

  “Oh, no, I missed,” James said in a flat voice. “And now my stunner needs to be recharged.” Noa blinked, and then, looking over her shoulder, she saw the hover 'bot spinning out of control in a cloud of electricity. She glanced to the side and saw the rest of the server room. Everything to her right had toppled over like so many dominoes. Eight couldn't believe James wasn't in on this, could he?

  She tried to laugh gamely. “Bwahahaha, I'll never give up.” It sounded lame to her own ears. She tried not to think about the millions of human lives, and others, depending on her skills as an actress.

  Rolling his eyes, James grabbed her shoulder and declared, “I have you now!” and his voice was authoritative and sure. He yanked her toward the door with the frosted glass. It opened with a whoosh, and he pushed her inside. It was so cold Noa shivered, and she nearly dropped the key in her hand as she tried to simultaneously release her bonds and scan the room for the cameras Eight was using to survey them. The gate's voice crackled over a speaker. “James, my 'bots are down, and half the servers in the previous location.”

  Noa's jaw fell. Eight believed James shooting the 'bot in the air, obstructing, and probably squishing some of the others had been some sort of mistake? Was it a child?

  “It's all right,” James replied. “Everything is under control now.”

  “I am sending more attendants!” Eight said. Biting her lower lip, Noa tried to control her shivers, and fit the key into the lock.

  “Ah—” James replied from behind her. “That would be … ah … very nice.” For the first time, he sounded unconvincing. “Thank you?” he finished.

  The key fit the lock. There was a whirring noise as it activated its pulse signal, and then Noa's shackles fell to the floor.

  “What's that?” Eight asked.

  “What's what?” James said, putting down the duffel bag. That was the signal. Noa spun quickly around. James dropped to a semi-crouch and she lunged at him, catching the front strap of his plasma rifle. She pulled backward, he stepped back, ducked, and threw Noa over his shoulder. Noa rolled, the rifle in her grip.

  “She has the plasma rifle!” Eight cried.

  James dove behind one of the large storage capsules in the room as though afraid she would fire on him. She aimed for the cameras in the room instead. Four, three, two …

  “They're coming!” James shouted.

  “Who?” Noa asked.

  “Drones!”

  “Throw the capsule against the door!” Noa shouted as the entrance whooshed open, and drones rushed in. Noa blasted at them, and pieces of metal and poly went flying.

  With a grunt, James pulled a capsule from the table it was on. Noa could feel the reverberation through her boots when it hit the floor. James pushed it to the doorway, as more 'bots skittered and rolled around it and into the chamber. Noa couldn't shoot at them until they were in the room, or risk shooting James. She heard him give an angry shout, and saw blood, but was too busy shooting the 'bots that had skittered around the capsule to look. James managed to lean the capsule against the door frame, but the critters snuck beneath and out either side, blurs of silver and plastic. In the corner of her eye, she saw James picking a few of them up and tossing them against the wall. Running across the room, dropping, and sliding on her knees so she was level with the tiny opening beneath the capsule, she opened fire. Some of the little monsters took cover behind their comrades and slipped through the other side. James yanked another capsule from a table, slid it across the floor, and a moment later, it thudded against the wall opposite Noa. She heard James fighting with 'bots that had entered the room as she aimed at 'bots trying to enter through the one entrance left. A sharp thud above her head and a shower of sparks made her jump backward. A hover 'bot dropped to the floor, one side of its body flattened by impact, smoke rising from its top, a whip of electricity dancing around it erratically.

  “Sorry about that,” James muttered, yanking another capsule from a table. “I didn't mean to throw it above your head.”

  In that moment, another spider-like 'bot jumped onto her rifle, crawled toward her face, a horizontal circle saw buzzing in its mid-section. Noa dropped the weapon and stamped on the saw 'bot. She heard skittering beside her, then turned and kicked another that had snuck through, and then stomped on it again when it got right back up. Somewhere, she heard Carl Sagan give a furious hiss, but she couldn't turn to look; another bot was dashing toward her firearm. Noa scooped up the weapon just in time, but before she could aim at the gun-stealing 'bot, she heard a familiar metallic screech. Glancing to the opening between the wall and the leaning capsule, she saw a 'bot with one of the electrical whips emerging. Motion beside her caught her eye, and she saw a phaser protruding from the first 'bot. She made her decision in an instant. Turning, she shot the one with the phaser, and the screech from the one with the electrical whip grew louder. She smelled ozone, and knew she was about to be hit. Before she could breathe or fire, or think, a capsule came sliding across the floor, blocking the last entrance, and crushing the 'bot with the electrical whip at the same time. The charge spread along the capsule and for a moment it glowed and made an odd sound, like the static created by a hundred werfles rolling on a wool rug.

  There was an eerie moment of silence.

  Carl Sagan squeaked tentatively.

  James said, “Eight knows I'm not on its side anymore.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that,” Noa replied.

  James broke into a gorgeous, pure, lopsided grin. The only place he used to be able to smile was in dreams. Spinning in place before her eyes could get hot, Noa shot the final camera.

  Pulling out an augment key, James headed to one of the capsules. “I've got to start re-programming these agents.”

  Rifle up, Noa quickly scanned the room for any little bots that might be hiding. Her eyes fell on Carl Sagan. He'd wiggled out of the duffel. His fur looked singed, but he appeared generally unharmed. He was standing on his back two pairs of legs, tiny beetle-sized 'bots clutched in his three other limb pairs. With a hiss he tossed the 'bots to the floor and hopped back. On impact, the little bugs exploded. Noa's brow furrowed—a bug in first generation 'bots she supposed—but seemed pretty odd that they would self-combust so easily. Noa went over, picked up the werfle, and settled him around her shoulders. Raising her rifle, she slunk around the capsules, looking for more bugs. She didn't see any, but her eyes fell through the translucent section of one of the capsules. The corpse-like visage of the agent within made her gulp. They were
n't capsules; they were transport caskets, coffins. She'd known that, but it hadn't had time to soak in. They didn't carry the dead. They were containers of the not-yet alive, and she found that haunting.

  A thumping noise from the casket that had crushed the 'bot with the electrical whip made her start. She crept around the edge of it, kneeled and waited for whatever 'bot was about to emerge from beyond the blocked door. The coffin shook. Carl Sagan hissed, and she felt him getting ready to pounce. The lid of the casket burst open, and Noa raised her rifle.

  “Wait!” James yelled, one hand outstretched, a hard link descending from his temple to the interior of a casket.

  “What's going on?” a woman asked tentatively from inside the casket. Noa began to shake. The woman's voice was familiar. The woman—no agent—in the coffin sat up. She had pale skin and red hair. Her hair was long, and she didn't look emaciated, but Noa recognized her immediately, and nearly dropped the rifle. “Ashley,” she whispered. “Ashley's” eyes shot directly to her.

  “That's not Ashley,” James said dismissively.

  “Noa! You're alive!” Ashley cried, hopping out of the casket and stepping toward Noa. She was wearing clothing that was too big and mismatched—like at the camp. Her sock-less ankles revealed that one of her legs was made of metal.

  “You're … you're … an agent of the gates?” Noa gasped.

  A furrow appeared on the Ashley agent's brow.

  “She barely looks like Ashley,” James complained, yanking the hard link out of a casket's occupant.

  The Ashley agent turned to James. “I look exactly like Ashley Gawande.”

  Noa swallowed.

  “Human memory is awful,” James muttered, concentrating on another agent in a coffin. “Well, at least you're pre-programmed to protect Noa.”

  Ashley's eyes met Noa's, and her gaze was very soft. “You know about us?” she asked.

  Noa nodded dumbly. “Were you in the camps?”

  The Ashley agent shook her head sadly. “No, I was created to be a fall back if James failed in his mission to interface with you.”