Fugitive X

by Gregg Rosenblum

  “Got to one of their mainframes somehow?” said the Governor. He looked down at his work and reached back into the bot’s face. “6, hand me the splitter next to your left hand, please.” The bot on the table lifted its arm and handed the Governor a small tool. Kevin felt a small twinge of disgust. . . . The patient handing the doctor his tools during its own operation. The Governor dug deep into the bot’s face with the splitter, squinting. “That would knock out a City’s comm cloud for a bit,” the Governor continued, “but they’ve got too many fail-safes to take out their networks by blowing things up. You’d run out of explosives first.”

  “I didn’t use explosives,” said Kevin.

  The Governor set his tools down next to the bot’s head and looked up at Kevin. “No?”

  Kevin hesitated, then decided, What the hell. “I built an overload device. Blew out the power supply.”

  The Governor smiled. “Very clever. That would work on some of the small scouts, but not much else. . . . Anything larger would have a shielded core. Interesting that it worked on one of the mainframes. That’s poor engineering. Or maybe just arrogance . . . They never thought anyone would get close.” He turned back to the bot on the operating table, waving Kevin over. “Come here.”

  Kevin walked over to the Governor, his curiosity stronger than his distrust.

  “You’ve noticed the leather patchwork on my robots. Neo-plas is almost impossible to come by now, so I’ve had to improvise. Cured pigskin works, but it only lasts for a year or two before it degrades, so I have to replace the patches periodically. See these?” He pointed at one of the mushroom-shaped wafers inside the bot’s face. “Basic sensors. They embed in the pigskin. Not really ideal, but it gets the job done. Hand me that piece of patch, will you?” The Governor nodded at a segment of pigskin resting on a tray next to the bot’s waist.

  Kevin picked up the skin—it was surprisingly soft and supple—and handed it to the Governor.

  “The trick is to bind it to the existing neo-plas without overcooking it, if you understand what I mean,” he said. The Governor laid the patch over the bot’s left cheek and began carefully attaching the sensors to the patch.

  “Governor,” said Kevin, “why are you showing me this?”

  The Governor sighed and set his tools down. “Because it’s obvious to me that you have talent. An intuition for engineering. No formal training, and still, look how much you’ve managed to figure out. Two months in the Island and you’ll be my best engineer.”

  “I don’t want to be your engineer,” Kevin said. “I want to leave, and find my brother and sister, and help my parents.”

  The Governor closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them slowly. “Kevin, my boy, I can’t help your parents, or your brother or sister. I’d like to, believe me, but they’re not here. What I can do is help you, and keep you safe.”

  “I’m not going to sit here and hide, like a . . . like a scared old man, when my family’s out there!” Kevin said, too angry to care about insulting the Governor.

  The Governor shook his head. “I’m sorry you refuse to understand,” he said. “23, take the boy to his work.” He picked up his clamp and pointed it at Kevin’s hands. “And if you try to escape again, you’ll get a lot worse than singed hands,” he said. “Now go.”

  Kevin didn’t wait for 23; he walked quickly up the stairs and out of the basement. The bot followed close behind.

  Back out in the fresh air, Kevin felt a bit of his anger dissipate, replaced with confusion. Why was the Governor reaching out to him? Why had he let Kevin get away with the escape attempt without punishment? Was it really just Kevin’s tech skills, or something else?

  “I’m not going to be one of the Governor’s bots,” Kevin said to 23.

  “No,” said 23. “You would not make a good robot.”

  “You got that right.” Kevin said, and smiled. Wait, was 23 making a joke? Could machines have a sense of humor?

  As they approached the Wall gap, Kevin could see that Pil and Cort were arguing. Pil was gesturing angrily with his hands, getting into Cort’s face, and then Cort shoved Pil in the chest and he fell over. Pil jumped up, hands clenched into fists. 23 stepped between the two boys and grabbed each of their forearms. “Cease your hostilities immediately,” it said. Both Pil and Cort tried to pull themselves away from the bot, but 23 tightened its grip.

  Suddenly Otter was standing over the bot, holding the hand planer menacingly. “Let go of them now,” he said.

  “Lower your weapon or I will be forced to aggressively defend myself,” said 23.

  “Go to hell, you damned bot,” said Otter.

  Kevin saw that the two adult men had picked up planks of wood and were walking toward the confrontation. 23 let go of Pil, raising its hand toward Otter, and Otter stepped back and triggered the hand planer with a whirr. . . .

  Kevin surprised himself by stepping between Otter and 23. “Wait!” he said. He turned to the bot. “23, there’s no need to interfere. Pil and Cort fight all the time. It never means anything.” 23 hesitated, his arm still raised. Over his shoulder, Kevin could hear the hum of the hand planer and feel Otter’s angry tension.

  The bot lowered his hand, let go of Cort, and took a step back. “Very well,” it said. “Do not overtax your hands today. They are not fully healed.” It turned and walked away.

  Otter switched the planer off. “Don’t ever step into my fight again,” he said to Kevin. The two men dropped their planks of wood and turned back to their cabling.

  Kevin shrugged, appearing more calm than he felt. “Just saving you from your own funeral,” he said. “Maybe you could have taken 23, but I don’t think the other bots would’ve been very happy about it.” Otter scowled but spun away without saying anything else.

  CHAPTER 30

  THE NEXT MORNING AT SUNRISE THE CAMP CLEARED OUT, LEAVING behind two rebels—one with her left arm in a sling, the other with his foot in a makeshift wooden splint. It was obvious, based on the amount of firepower that they were packing and their grim, serious demeanors, that something big was about to happen.

  “Are they heading to the City?” Nick asked the woman with her arm in a sling. If they were, he needed to be a part of it. He might be able to use the battle chaos to get his parents out. . . .

  “No,” she said gruffly. “Haven’t gotten the orders for that yet.”

  “So where are they going?” he asked. “What’s the plan?”

  The woman scowled and said, “If you don’t know, then you aren’t supposed to know. Now keep quiet, otherwise I’ll activate your sister’s stun collar just to shut you up.”

  The other guard limped up on his bad leg. “Don’t worry about Jackie,” he said to Nick. “She’s all rusted out because not only is she missing the action, but now she has to be a babysitter.”

  “What is the action, exactly?” said Nick.

  “Clamp it, Witt,” said Jackie, shoving the man on the shoulder, sending him staggering back and forcing him to hop to stay off his bad foot.

  “Dammit, Jackie, you trying to break my other foot?” said Witt. Jackie ignored him. Witt hobbled back to Nick. “She’s right,” he said, giving Nick a slightly apologetic shrug. “You’ve got a long way to go before getting back in Ro’s good graces, now that you’ve dragged your true believer sister into our camp.”

  “Like I told Ro, we had nowhere else to go,” Nick said. “And she’s not a true believer. She’s just . . . she’s just confused right now.”

  “I’m not confused,” Cass said. She was sitting on a log near a fire pit, staring into the ashes. She looked up at Nick and Witt. “My parents, my real parents, are alive and happy in the City. And that’s where my home is.”

  Witt raised an eyebrow at Nick. “Sounds like a true believer to me,” he said.

  “You’re lucky Ro just gave her a stun collar instead of an execution,” Jackie said.

  Nick clenched his fists and bit back an angry reply. Farryn shouldered past him and got in
to Jackie’s face. “You’re the one who has to figure out whose side you’re on,” he said. “You happy killing people just like the bots?”

  “True believers aren’t people,” Jackie said, grabbing Farryn’s shirt with her good arm. She pushed him back roughly, then pressed a trigger on her comm bracelet. Cass gave a short, choking scream, then fell to the ground, clutching at her neck and kicking her legs spastically.

  Lexi ran to Cass, while Nick and Farryn lunged toward Jackie. Witt stepped in front of Jackie, a burst pistol in his hands. “Stop!” he said. Nick and Farryn skidded to a stop. Cass continued to kick and choke in the dirt next to the fire pit, while Lexi knelt next to her, powerless to help. If he moved fast enough, maybe he could disarm Witt before he had a chance to fire . . .

  “Jackie, turn off the damned collar!” said Witt.

  Jackie reached down to her wrist, slowly, theatrically, and thumbed her bracelet. Cass’s legs stopped kicking and she took in a deep sucking breath. She pushed herself up to her knees, retching. Both Farryn and Nick rushed past Witt to Cass. “Are you okay?” said Nick to Cass, holding her shoulder. Farryn stood over them, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  Cass stayed on her hands and knees a few more moments, her ragged breath slowly returning to normal. Then she pushed Nick’s hand away and stood. “You brought me here,” she said, her voice raspy. “This is your fault.”

  Nick shook his head but didn’t know what to say. He fought back angry tears. She wasn’t wrong. He had rescued her, but now here she was, collared and tortured. He turned and walked over to Jackie, who folded her arms over her chest and smirked at him.

  “Do that again and I will kill you,” he said quietly. “Take her collar off.”

  Jackie laughed, then shook her head. “That’s not gonna happen,” she said.

  “Take it off,” he repeated.

  “That’s enough,” Witt said, grabbing Nick’s arm. Nick spun, fist clenched, ready to throw a punch.

  Witt stepped back, apparently reading the intent in Nick’s eyes, and raised his gun, and Erica, who had been gathering water at the stream, was suddenly there, slipping behind Witt, unsheathing her hunting knife. There was a grinding roar from the south that staggered everyone, followed a moment later by a fireball that rose up over the tree line about a half mile to the south.

  “What the . . . ?” said Witt. He pulled an earbud from his pocket and jammed it in his ear, then tapped on his comm bracelet. “Hello? Hello?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Witt,” said Jackie. “You know they’re on comm lockdown until after the raid tomorrow.” She rushed into a nearby tent and came out a few moments later with a burst pistol holstered at her waist. “I’ll check it out. Stay here.” Jackie ran off into the woods to the south, moving awkwardly because of her arm sling.

  Erica looked at Nick and gave a small enigmatic smile, then a nod, and then she took off after Jackie.

  “Wait!” said Witt, but he didn’t raise his gun, and she quickly disappeared into the trees. Nick could see black smoke rising from the site of the fireball. He took a step toward the woods.

  “No,” said Witt, raising his weapon. “Stay put.”

  “If it’s a fight, I can help,” Nick said. “Let me go. Or shoot me in the back, like a bot would.”

  Witt hesitated, then nodded and lowered his pistol.

  Nick looked at Lexi and Farryn. “Watch my sister,” he said.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said Lexi.

  Nick smiled. “It’s way too late for that,” he said.

  Lexi gave him a small smile in return. “Yeah, true,” she said.

  Nick turned and ran after Jackie and Erica. He headed south at a quick jog, following a game path. His heart was pounding, more from adrenaline and nerves than exertion. The game path ended abruptly and Nick ducked into the trees. His right foot hit a muddy patch of grass and he skidded and almost fell, catching himself on a tree trunk. A blast from nearby to the south rocked him backward, almost knocking him onto the ground. It was followed by a faint scream and then the crackle of burst rifles. Nick hesitated a moment, then ran toward the noise.

  Quickly the gunfire grew louder, and Nick slowed to a crouching walk, not wanting to blunder right into the middle of the battle. Ahead, among the trees, he saw smoke and the orange glow of fire and the bright flashes of burst rifles. He dropped to the ground, moving forward on his hands and knees, and then he saw three figures coming toward him out of the smoke and he quickly crawled behind a tree. When the figures grew clearer, he realized it was Erica and a man holding up a third person between them. He was unconscious or dead, his legs dragging uselessly along the ground as Erica and the man struggled to move him away from the fight.

  Nick rushed over to the trio. It took him a moment to recognize the third man, because his injuries were so bad. It was Marco. His shirt was soaked with blood and his face and hands had been burned. The skin was raw, red and blistered and peeling, and his eyebrows and most of his hair was gone. “What’s happening?” Nick said to Erica, having to yell to be heard over the blast crackles.

  “Get out of here!” said the man to Marco’s right. They were dragging Marco again, and Nick jogged alongside them. “It’s all gone to hell! Stumbled across a group of damned bots, no comm signals, no warnings. Weren’t supposed to see any bots for two days!”

  Two more men appeared out of the trees, hurrying past them. “Back to camp!” one said as he rushed past.

  The man dragging Marco, Nick realized, had two burst rifles slung over his shoulder—one must have been Marco’s. “Give me a rifle!” Nick said.

  The man unslung one of the rifles and tossed it to Nick without slowing down.

  “Keep your head down!” Erica said. “This isn’t target practice.”

  Nick nodded and then ran, crouching, to the south, flicking off the safety of the rifle as he ran and setting the burst to medium. Enough to take down a bot, hopefully, without draining his weapon too quickly.

  Nick saw that the smoke in the distance glowed with energy bursts. He recognized the crackling hum of lase blasts. Peteys. He couldn’t see them through the smoke, but he knew they were nearby. He dropped to the ground. Rifle bursts returned fire from low and to the right, and he saw three rebels tucked down behind two trees, their camo gear blending with the grass and underbrush. He sprinted over in a crouch and dove down next to them. Ro was the man on the far left. “What the hell you doing here?” he said.

  “Came to help!” said Nick.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Ro growled. “Rendezvous back at the camp!” The air crackled, and a tree limb ten feet to their left exploded and flew backward. Nick flinched instinctively. Ro and the others shot bursts into the smoke, although there were no discernible targets. Another burst came, striking the ground ten feet in front of them, sending dirt flying and making the ground shudder. Nick sighted down the scope of Marco’s rifle. At first he saw only smoke and vague darting shadows. Then he felt something shift in his robotic eye and he almost reflexively took a hand off his gun to touch his face. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it felt odd, like something crawling over his eyeball, and then the smoke was somehow transparent. He still knew it was there, but he could see through it clearly, even though that shouldn’t have been possible.

  In the distance, barely visible, he saw the darting spherical shape of a scout hovering among the trees. It vanished behind tree cover, and he waited. When it reappeared, he tracked it, squeezed the trigger, and watched as an instant later it erupted into flaming shrapnel.

  “Yes!” he yelled.

  “What the hell?” said Ro. Nick didn’t answer. A Petey had appeared from behind tree cover off in the distance, near where the wrecked sphere bot lay. It raised its lase arm toward their position, and Nick sighted quickly and fired, and the burst hit the Petey square in its chest. It staggered back into a tree, then raised itself back up.

  “Damn!” said Nick. “Medium burst won’t take the Peteys down?”


  “Need a full burst to even slow them down much,” said Ro. “But you can’t get a good shot in this smoke.”

  “I can see fine,” Nick said. He squeezed off another round, tagging the Petey again, disrupting its aim as it was firing. The bot’s lase burst shot harmlessly into the air. Nick sighted another scout bot and squeezed off a burst, but the bot was weaving in and out of the trees and the shot missed. He focused on the bot, watching its flight, sensing its pattern, and he tracked in front of it, leading it, and somehow the bot’s frantic bob and weave seemed to slow way down, like it was flying through honey, and Nick released a burst that struck the bot squarely and destroyed it. Two, Nick thought, his fingers tingling with adrenaline. That’s two bots down.

  There was a blur of movement to his left and then Erica was sliding down beside him, her pistol in her hand, the right side of her body pressing against his leg and arm. “Still alive?” she said.

  He flashed her a quick grin. “So far,” he said.

  Ro triggered his comm bracelet. “Anybody else still pinned down?” he said. “Report positions.” Ro listened for a few moments, his hand over his ear to shield his earpiece from the noise. “Okay,” he said, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “Everyone alive is getting out. Let’s go.”

  Ro stood, preparing to run, and then Nick saw another Petey, at the edge of his range, aim its lase arm. “Down!” he said, slamming his shoulder against Ro and knocking him over. The Petey’s lase burst crackled overhead, through the spot where Ro had been standing. Nick took aim at the Petey and triggered three quick medium bursts, knocking the bot backward into the trees. Erica fired her pistol, four rapid shots, but her bursts were wild. She obviously couldn’t see through the smoke like Nick.

  “Okay, it’s down!” said Nick.

  “Come on!” said Ro. He grabbed the back of Nick’s shirt and hauled him to his feet. Nick had a wild impulse to ignore Ro, to run toward the bots to get better aim, to switch to full burst and see if he could take down one of the big Peteys, but then he thought of his sister, collared, needing him even though she hated him, and his brother, lost God knew where. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and followed Erica and the retreating rebels.