How to Defeat a Hero

by J Bennett

  The crowd laughs but I don’t. During the mayoral race, news leaked a week before the election that Anders’s opponent participated in a secret Stream group that shared 3D-print schematics for child-like robos. Within an hour of the story breaking, Anders’s campaign was plastering every Steam with brutal attack ads. Even I heard about them in Biggie LC.

  The twinkling woman totters back on stage. “Alright, alright,” she sings, “we’re about to begin. Make sure you’ve synced your paddle. Let me introduce our most esteemed auctioneer…”

  I lean over to Sequoia. “See you in ten mins,” I whisper to him.

  “Shining luck,” he whispers back. I feel like my stomach is filled with a thousand live wires.

  Louder, I say, “Dear, I’m going to hit the restroom. All the champagne.” I smile, unlink my arm, and gently push through the crowd. On stage, the auctioneer introduces a gobbly statue created by a human-robo collaboration.

  Commit to the heist, commit to the heist, commit to the heist, I mentally chant to myself.

  Just before I leave the main ballroom, I pluck a crumbly crab cake from an appetizer tray offered by a service robo.

  Here we go.

  Chapter 14

  I am proud to present the Grand Museum's latest acquisition, an incredibly rare and valuable ancient Japanese tea set. No, I don't anticipate any security issues at the event. ~ Mayor Grimbal Wisenberg, interview with Reena Masterson at Grand Museum private event

  ~

  I slip through a back door and move down a long hallway. The lights are dim in this part of the building. Service robos whoosh around me. Some tuck empty trays under their arm while others sail toward the ballroom holding their trays aloft laden with ever more flutes of champagne or slivers of real farmed salmon laid across crackers and dabbed with caviar, also locally farmed, at least according to proud holo-display messages scrolling across the robos’ chest plates.

  “Ms., please return to the ballroom,” each robo says politely to me after noting my presence.

  “Just looking for a restroom,” I slur back and giggle. Hopefully, the robos aren’t programmed to report suspicious behavior to the event’s security team. If they do, our timeline will be dramatically shortened. We’ve practiced that particular scenario, but it’s always tight. We’ll manage. We have to.

  I count the hallways silently in my head as I pass them and turn right down the fourth one. The churn of robo wheels and the clattering of dishes quiets away. I am alone, except for dim overhead lights that wake with my passage. The only sounds are the tinkling of the beads swaying over my face and the soft whir of the single cam drone that hovers in front of me. I imagine Leo on the other end of the lens, probably shaking his head and cursing us all. If we get caught, he’ll surely have some uncomfortable questions to answer.

  “Big breakthroughs often carry great risk,” I say to the cam and offer a smile. It’s an old line of The Professor’s, one he often repeats before big missions. I slip out of my heels and sigh with relief. I wish I could just drop them in the hallway, but it’s not exactly brills to leave your DNA in an off-limits corridor. I hook the heels with my finger and proceed forward.

  The hallway seems so much longer than the simulation Sequoia built, but it’s probs just in my head. It also doesn’t help that I’ve got a curtain of annoying beads swinging in front of my eyes with each step. I pass closed doors, some made of actual wood, lovingly re-touched. According to Mermaid, these doors guard real, physical books that residents of Chicago can still check out with special permission.

  My ears strain for the sound of an approaching security person, but I hear nothing. And then, up ahead, I set eyes on my first foe. A security robo stands guard in front of an emergency exit. The original sign, white with red letters, still hangs above the door.

  The robo senses me when I get within 10 meters. Its strange little head pivots, cams focused on my face. I know it’s trying to identify me as it submits a security alert.

  The clock has officially started.

  “This is a restricted area. Please return to the ballroom,” the robo says.

  “Is that the bathroom?” I ask and take a wobbly step forward. I squint at the serial number etched on the robo’s chest plate, trying to make out its model number.

  “Bathrooms are located in the ballroom. Please return,” the robo says. “This is a restricted area. A security member has been called to escort you.”

  “Oh, blight!” I cry and then giggle. “The restrooms are in the ballroom? I didn’t even see them. Here I am wandering all over the place and my bladder’s fit to explode.” As I speak, I stumble forward, step by step.

  Right on cue, the robo turns its coatrack body toward me, laser ports still capped but pointed in my direction. There it is! I make out the tiny digits of its serial number. The first three are V-42.

  Inwardly, I sigh. Mermaid poured through all the available specs on the various models made by Talos. After Talos acquired its last security firm competitor a decade ago, it became the only major defense contractor still standing. At least it was shining easy to figure who was supplying this shindig with security.

  The real challenge was planning for the different possible robo models the event planners could hire. Sequoia was confident they’d spring for a Valkyrie model, something in the V-40 to V-44 range, but even within that scope, the robos have significantly different capabilities, protocols, and identified weaknesses. We’d created plans for each and every one of them, but the V-42 is good. Very good.

  “Sorry, sorry. Don’t shoot!” I laugh at the Valkyrie and hold up my hands. This robo doesn’t look a thing like an ancient female warrior, but I know it’s deadly enough if I get too close.

  “Do not approach. I repeat, do not approach. I am authorized to use force if I perceive a threat,” the robo states.

  “Whoa, whoa, I’m not a threat. K! I’m leaving. I don’t need this,” I huff. “Just give me a sec. Oh!” I look down at the crushed crab cake in my hand. “I forgot I had this. You guys don’t eat crab cakes, do you? Otherwise, I’d share.”

  I pop the piece of food in my mouth. “You know, you’ve been very rude to me,” I slur through the crab cake. “You shouldn’t threaten people. In fact, who’s your manager? Let me…” I take another step forward.

  “DO NOT APPROACH! I AM AUTHORIZED TO USE FORCE,” the robo says in a booming voice.

  I begin to choke. My eyes bulge. I open and close my mouth. Flap my hands near my face.

  The robo watches me, its cam ports shifting.

  After the Burning Cars Riots three decades ago, Talos responded by creating the nearly indestructible Valkyrie robos. This coat hanger in front of me can’t be taken down with a laz pistol, torch gun, or even a bomb. The newest models can even handle an EMP burst.

  My only hope of beating it is, ironically, empathy.

  My eyes water. I open my mouth again, trying to gasp for air and then stumble to my knees.

  “Are you in distress?” The robo asks.

  I nod like a lobotomy and start crawling toward the robo. If this were an older, V-40 model, it would stun me into oblivion. But, starting with the V-41 models, Talos added a basic suite of lifesaving protocols to their fleet of Valkyries and—most importantly—a rule structure that allows them to abandon their post if they perceive a life-threatening emergency.

  This Valkyrie 42 model–bless its programming–wheels behind me. Its flexible arms come around me, meaning to lift me up and start performing the Heimlich, one of 49 lifesaving interventions it can offer. Instead, I jump to my feet and turn around. My hands fumble with my belt.

  Come on! Come on! The shigit beads bump against my face.

  Then the belt is off. I slap the belt across the robo’s primary cam port. “Belt, full power, white,” I cry, spitting crab cake everywhere. The belt responds to my vocal command, its screen going white, pouring 1,000 watts right into my savior’s cam port.

  The robo’s arms immediately drop away from my body
.

  “Camera offline,” it says. “Camera offline. Camera offline.”

  With no ability to assess the situation, the V-42 immediately shuts down all functioning. Talos added that little safeguard just 12 years ago after the Detroit “Work Again” protests. The protestors shot up flares, maybe to confuse the robos, maybe to ruin the shots from the news drone cams, or maybe just to grab attention in our Gogg zombie world. Whatever the reason, all that light messed with the Valkyries’ sighting systems, and they ended up spraying the mostly peaceful crowd with high-level stun lasers. Even hit a few kids.

  I tighten the belt around the robo so it won’t slip off, and then I wipe my gooey, crumb-covered lips with the back of my hand. I know the robo sent a security alert as soon as I approached. It’ll send another one now noting its condition and requesting a replacement. Anyone on the other side of those alerts who wasn’t already suspicious certainly will be now. Our clock is speeding up.

  I take one step toward the exit door and hear running feet far down the hallway.

  “Ms.?” a female voice calls. “Ms., stay away from that door.”

  Buddha’s eye boogers! The service robos in the main hall must have sent through a security alert. I’ve just run out of time. I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of a woman in a silver coat racing toward me.

  “I gotta go, the bathroom,” I slur at her.

  “That’s not a bathroom,” she says, a touch of irritation in her voice. Her hand relaxes from its position on the handle of the laz pistol at her hip. Then she sees the security robo standing silent a few meters from the door. Her expression clouds with confusion.

  I lurch for the door, slamming myself into the big metal bar. It compresses, but the door doesn’t budge. My brain screams. Sweat soaks down my back. No, no, no! And then, like a flash of providence, or just the hundreds of training simulations Mermaid put me through, I remember.

  The manual lock.

  Mermaid made me practice flipping it over and over again in the stimulation, and I’d still forgotten it in the panic of the moment.

  My fingers grasp the lock and twist it. I shove my weight against the door, pressing the bar, and this time it swings open. I practically fall outside into the warm night.

  “Guard, guard,” I pant.

  A figure waiting on the other side of the door steps swiftly around me, leans into the open doorway, and shoots. I hear a croak of surprise, then the sound of a body smacking the ground.

  Mermaid holds her laz pistol steady, like a statue, waiting to see if any additional guards follow.

  “Oooh,” Gold winces as he steps around Mermaid and helps me up. “That didn’t sound like a pleasant fall.”

  “Any problems?” Mermaid asks. Her blue lab coat fits snugly and her bowtie flashes blue sparks.

  “Mostly smooth,” I say. “Took a little longer than anticipated.”

  Gold flicks a crumb off my chin and lets me go. My legs are shaky. In fact, my entire body feels like it’s been doused in cold sweat.

  “Happy birthday,” Gold says, offering me a bulky purse I snagged from Lysee’s closet. It’s flashing yellow sequins clash with my dress, but given how fast the fads spin these days, it might actually be in style. Anyway, it was the only big purse I could find on short notice.

  I nod at Gold and shove my arm through the strap of the purse, hooking it on my shoulder. My shaking fingers grip the zipper. It seems determined not to move until I finally yank hard and it gives way. The purse gapes open and I reach into a small side pocket and pull out a tiny earbud. Even before I press the bud into my ear canal, I hear a voice squawking on the other end.

  “Update. Update!” The Professor shouts.

  “We’re in,” Mermaid hisses. “Maintain radio silence.”

  “What is the situation?” The Professor barks. I glance out the door and spot the barest outline of a black car parked at the corner. We all agreed it was best for our vil to stay out of sight. Our plan is too risky, the threat of capture too great, and with his famous face, he’d be a sure target the moment we revealed ourselves.

  “Hello!” a happy voice calls at the door. Kitty sails in, a wide smile on her silicon lips. She somehow still manages to look sexy in her powder pink lab coat and glowing white bowtie. Two cam drones follow her through the door, and I drag it closed after them. Leo has one more cam, which he must be keeping in the car with The Professor.

  “You understand your assignment?” I ask Kitty.

  “Yes, oh yes. My new programming is a little buggy, but I believe I can comply.” Her cats eyes lower. “I certainly want to comply,” she says in a husky voice.

  “No, none of that right now,” I hiss. Once a sex bot always a sexbot.

  Ahead of me, Mermaid hooks her arms under the arms of the unconscious security guard and drags her into a nearby office. The guard almost certainly has a tracking device on her, and they’ll send a team soon enough when she doesn’t check in, but no sense in leaving her sprawled in the hallway to make it easy for them.

  “Iron, go,” Mermaid says as soon as she closes the office door. I nod and force my wobbly legs to propel me past them and down the hall. My ears strain for the sound of running steps, or worse, the soft hum of robo wheels coming toward us.

  Nothing.

  “If they send robos, we’re done,” Gold breathes just behind me.

  Like I needed the reminder. The robo guarding the door would have sent out a security alert about a guest approaching the door. The key is whether the robo’s algorithm categorized me as a low-grade or serious threat. Did my drunk routine fool it? And did the human guard manage to send off a high-level security alert before Mermaid pegged her? If she did, we’ll have the entire security apparatus pounding toward us in a couple of secs. Not to mention that Ash Anders’s security team will whisk him away before we even make it back to the ballroom.

  Every stage of our plan depends on perfect execution and more than a little luck. I drag in a deep breath. All I can do is proceed as normal and remind myself of something Tickles the Elf wrote on his blog last week—Don’t ever count on the other side being incompetent, but you’ll be surprised at how often they are.

  Again we pass the quiet doors where the old books linger. Mermaid, Gold, and Kitty peel off down different hallways to prepare for their parts. I continue forward until I make it to the main hallway, where the service robos continue to whiz back and forth.

  I sigh in relief. They wouldn’t be following normal protocol if the security contractor had released a serious threat alert. We’re still in business but our time is borrowed. As soon as they find our unconscious security guard, the game will be up. I swing out into the larger hallway, scattering a bunch of robos. “Please return to the ballroom,” they squawk at me.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I slur drunkenly even as my stride picks up speed. I barely remember to shove my feet back into my heels before re-entering the ballroom. I move through the entrance, followed by a stream of service robos.

  My bladder contracts. Out of nowhere, I realize I need to pee. Ironic, considering how I just spent the last ten mins pretending to look for a bathroom. No time for toilets now. I move into the crowd. On stage, the auctioneer rambles off numbers as the holo-screens display a small tree in a beautiful pot. I wonder what makes the tree so special, but I suppose I’ll never find out. Quietly, I slip through the mass of bodies, keeping close to the walls. Every so often I bend down, grumbling about my heels.

  And then, after ages and ages, I am again at Sequoia’s side. In the overhead lights, I see sweat beading his forehead. He glances down at me and then back up to the auction. His warm hand closes around mine, and he takes the earbud tucked in my palm. When it’s affixed in his ear, he turns toward me, and I step in close to his body.

  We’ve done this little dance a million times in our virtual reality simulations, but it’s different in real life, with his body pressed against mine, the heat pouring off him. His eyes are on my face. I wonder what he’s t
hinking, if he could possibly feel as sick with adrenaline and fear, so itchy in his own skin, as I do right now.

  “Bear claw donuts, bear claw donuts,” I whisper in his ear while he reaches into my open purse and pulls out first one stun laz pistol and then a second. He laughs softly at my non-existent joke as he lifts each pistol between our bodies and tucks them inside his jacket pockets. If anyone glances at us, it would look like we’re sharing an intimate little joke.

  “Bear claw donuts,” I say again and smile widely as Sequoia slips a pair of specially tinted glasses into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

  “You’re making me hungry,” he says and I hear the echo of his voice through my earpiece.

  “You think Ash Anders like donuts?” Gold jokes through the com line. “Maybe we can all go out and grab a bite when we get back to Biggie LC.”

  “What are you talking about?” The Professor’s voice is sharp in my ear. He’s the only one who can afford not to whisper.

  “You ready, Professor?” I hiss, keeping my body tucked into Sequoia’s big frame.

  “I suppose, my dear. I’ve had so little time to prepare, but I shall rise to the moment.”

  I can’t help but smile for real. He may be raging pissed at our switch-er-roo, but this heist will make him, once again, into the biggest vil in Biggie LC. Well, he’ll at least match Shadow.

  No matter how this heist ends, The Professor will be a legend. He couldn’t ask for more.

  “Gold?” I ask.

  “The AV robos have been incredibly accommodating,” he replies. “Must be my charm.”

  “Wait for my mark,” I say.

  I glance up at Sequoia again. Our eyes meet. I suddenly want to hold onto him and never let go. But Mermaid already stunned the guard. There’s no going back now. I give Sequoia a sharp nod, and then he’s gone, melting into the crowd. The bidding for the tree is getting furious now. I reach into my bag, and my fingers wrap around a chunk of cool plastic.

  I edge closer to the stage.