by Todd McAulty
I was so focused on watching the skies that I stepped on something. I felt it poke my foot through the hard leather of my shoe—something curved and sharp, like a broken knife.
I stepped back, peering at the ground. I had to squat to make out what it was.
It was a curved piece of metal. It looked like it had been torn from something larger. Almost eight feet to my left was a bigger section of metal, this one twisted into a crooked spiral.
There was a trail of debris, leading to my left. My eyes followed it to a dark shape, hunched in the shadows about fifty feet away.
I heard a snapping then, like cracking metal. It came from the hunched shape. I heard it again, and then I saw it shift in the darkness.
Whatever this thing was, it hadn’t bothered me yet, and I wasn’t about to bother it. I took a step forward, toward the next barricade, ready to leave it behind.
It rose up on tall, gleaming legs and strode toward me.
Shit, I thought, taking two quick steps back. I fought the need to tell Sergei what was happening, and managed to keep my mouth shut.
The walking figure became more distinct as it drew closer. As it did, a bright spray of sparks spat out from one of the bigger pieces of debris. It lit up the whole area like a flare, illuminating a larger shape on the ground.
Crap. The large shape was a Venezuelan drone. Something had brought it down hard. It was the source of all the debris. A torn power cable sparked a second time, throwing everything around it into stark relief. It had been torn open, and I could see one of the power couplings was missing. The heavy power core, three feet of hot metal, lay on the street a few feet away.
The thing walking toward me was a rational device, a make I was entirely unfamiliar with. It wasn’t Venezuelan, or Argentinean, or any of the other occupying forces. It was humanoid, sleek and skinny and very tall, maybe nine feet in height. Its clean and unblemished hull was like polished skin. It made almost no sound as it strode toward me. Cold robot eyes seemed to fix on mine as it approached.
Shit. I had the drone jammer with me, and it was on. Could this thing still see me? I made no hostile moves, and raised my hands in the air.
The thing passed by me on the right. Its head swiveled toward me as it passed, then pivoted away, its eyes probing the darkness. Clutched in its left hand was a power coupler, torn cables dangling almost to the ground. It kept walking until it vanished into the darkness between two buildings on my right.
I dropped my arms. Goddamn robots.
“Status?” Sergei asked.
“Okay, I think. I ran into some kind of . . . robot scavenger. I thought it could see me for a second, but I don’t think so. Looks like it brought down a Venezuelan drone, stole a power coupler.”
“That is . . . very curious. That is not normal machine behavior.”
“Yeah.” It was curious. Despite the fact that I was on a life-or-death mission, part of me wanted to follow that robot and find out what made him tick. Not to mention exactly how it had brought down a half-ton Venezuelan drone.
I shook my head. “All right. I’m getting out of here before more drones show up to check on their buddy. Going silent again.”
“Acknowledged.”
I inspected the power core as I passed the fallen drone. The metal had cooled enough to pick up, though it was too heavy to carry very far. But it would serve even better than the crowbar for what was coming up next. I got it on my shoulder and kept moving.
From this distance I could see into the lobby of the Sturgeon Building. It wasn’t quite as dark as it had looked two blocks away—I could see two lit stations, probably security posts—but it was still thick with shadows. And other than a handful of concrete barricades in my path, the approach was completely clear. There was a revolving door on the near side of the lobby, an enticing target.
But that wasn’t the plan. After much discussion and thought, Sergei had proposed a plan to reach the elevators that minimized risk of discovery. It was a good plan. An audacious plan. Sergeant Gunther would have loved it.
I ignored the lobby and made my way to the back of the Sturgeon Building. There I found the loading dock, at the end of a long alley. There was a ramp leading up to the dock. There were sure to be cameras on this part of the building, drones or no drones. I was going to have to act quickly.
I cased the loading dock for as long as I dared, then broke radio silence. “Found a door,” I told Sergei.
“Does it have clean egress?”
There were no trucks blocking the ramp, but there was a van with a flat tire about halfway down the alley leading to the loading dock. The door was one of three granting access to the building from the dock. It was the farthest from the ramp, but it was the only one made of glass.
“It’ll do,” I said.
I took three deep breaths, then jogged down the alley. I strode up the ramp. I didn’t bother looking for cameras; I knew they were there. I walked purposefully to the far end of the dock, past two double doors, to where the slim glass door lay in shadow.
I pulled on the handle of the door. It was locked up tight. As expected, but you feel stupid if you don’t bother to check.
I took two steps back and positioned the power core on my shoulder. I could still feel heat emanating from it. I swung it like a golf club, releasing it halfway through the upswing.
It sailed through the door in an explosion of glass.
I didn’t hear an alarm, but pale blue lights inside flickered on immediately. The corridor beyond the shattered door was bathed in eerie blue light. It was empty—nothing but white walls and a small desk. And the power core, rolling to a stop in a field of glass. The dock was illuminated too, and I could see much of the building, on the left and right, was bathed in the same soft blue glow.
I turned around, reaching into my pocket. “Here we go,” I said.
I turned off the jammer.
It vibrated briefly. The moment it did, I started walking. I headed down the ramp into the alley, as casually as I could. Am I using the same walk as I did at the museum? I wondered. Sergei said it wouldn’t matter, but then again, he’s not the one under a death sentence. Soon I was no longer sheltered by the building, and out in the open.
I resisted the urge to look up for as long as I could, but I couldn’t do it forever. When I reached the bottom up the ramp, I felt the device vibrate an alert in my pocket. I glanced skyward.
The drones were coming. Three that I could see, falling like stones from the sky.
I gripped the crowbar and started to run up the alley.
The drones were tasked with perimeter security. They had no record of my approach, so as far as they knew I had just smashed through a back door and was now escaping from the Sturgeon Building. If they’d tagged me as a hostile intruder, they’d shoot first and ask questions later. But according to Sergei, protocols for escapees were very different: observe and contain, rather than shoot on sight. The drones were on their way to get a good look at me, and then herd me back into the building—using whatever means necessary. And the instant they had a really good look, the search algorithm would identify me as the criminal who broke into the Field Museum.
This was the best way to be identified without being shot first. It also meant the drones would be driving me toward the Sturgeon Building, instead of preventing me from entering it.
I kept my eyes forward as I ran, and made it all the way to the street before I lost my nerve. I thrust my hand in my pocket, grabbed the device.
“I’m turning it on!” I said.
“Not yet,” said Sergei. “You are not yet in system.”
I cursed and kept running. In the street ahead, a falling drone came within a dozen feet of smashing itself to bits on the pavement. It fired up its rotors at the last second, cutting it far closer than a human pilot could have, and instead of destroying itself it bounced and rolled left, heading toward me and picking up speed.
I reversed course, heading south. A second drone dropped out o
f the sky not twenty yards ahead of me, flipping end over end and accelerating in my direction. It was identical to the first, all sinister silver and wasp-like, about twelve feet long. There was a mess of dark instruments curled up on its underside.
I was too close to risk it hearing me. I bit down on a volley of choice expletives and hastily retreated.
I made the entrance to the alley. On my right was the Sturgeon Building; on the left was an eight-foot wooden fence screening a jumbled pile of rubble that had once been an office building with the misfortune of being next to Venezuelan Military Intelligence. About halfway down the alley was the van with the flat tire; thirty yards farther was the ramp to the loading dock. The alley was clear of drones, and right now that was all that mattered.
I started forward. My best bet was to scale the fence, make my way into the maze of rubble. It wouldn’t hide me for long, but hopefully it wouldn’t have to. Just long enough for the search algorithm to do its thing.
I turned around, walking backwards, keeping an eye on the mouth of the alley. In a matter of seconds, both drones hove into view, one on the right and one on the left.
Both had slowed, almost stopping. They seemed to be content to observe me for the moment.
That’s right, I thought. I turned around slowly, held out my arms, let them see everything. Jacket, pants, shoes, my goddamn socks. Take a good look, assholes.
“Sergei—” I whispered.
“Stay silent,” Sergei said. “I will keep you informed.”
Fine, I thought. You do that.
I turned around again, keeping an eye on the drones. They stayed put at the mouth of the alley, hovering silently. I kept retreating, walking backward toward the ramp, swinging the crowbar at my side.
I heard the whirr of rotors behind me.
I whirled around. A third drone dropped from the sky, braking at the bottom of the ramp. Its rotors kicked up a dust cloud that almost engulfed me, and nearly dislodged the scarf around my face. I pressed my right forearm against the scarf, pinning it to my face, while my left hand kept the jammer hidden in my pocket in a white-knuckle grip.
I looked back at the mouth of the alley. The drones there had begun to advance, slipping into the alley toward me, silently creeping forward like great cats.
Come on, Sergei. The drones have to have processed my image by now.
I retreated from the ramp, back toward the two drones. Of the three, the drone straight ahead was the one behaving the most aggressively. It fired up its rear rotors and reoriented, hovering vertically like a slowly spinning top. It began to close the distance between us. There were a number of appendages fixed to its silver hull that looked like they could be deadly, and I had absolutely no interest in seeing any of them in action.
It was too open in the alley. As I worked my way backward, keeping the hovering drone in front of me, I estimated the distance to the fence on my left at twenty-five feet. I weighed my chances of reaching the fence and scaling it before the drone could react.
They weren’t good. I risked a glance over my shoulder. The drones behind me were slowly closing. They were less than a hundred feet away.
In about a minute, the three of them would have me cornered. I was running out of options.
I took two more measured steps backwards, then tossed the crowbar toward the fence and bolted to my left.
I ran full speed for the fence. Behind me to my right, I could already hear the drone spin up, accelerating in my direction.
Two seconds later I reached the fence. It was sturdier than I expected. I kicked out my right foot just before I slammed into it, planting it on one of the wooden planks, let my momentum carry me up to the top of the fence. I grabbed the top with both hands, heaving myself up.
The drone shot over my head. Damn, it was fast. Too fast—it had over-accelerated, and its momentum carried it well over the fence. It spun over in the air, dropping in altitude, coming to rest about seven feet above a dark field of rubble and broken concrete. It was roughly level with my head, and it brought a slender rod to bear on me.
I let go, dropping back down. The moment I hit the ground I snatched up the crowbar and started running to the left, out of sight of the drone toward the back of the van. I reached it in seconds and ducked down behind the right rear tire.
I was now out of sight of all three drones. That wouldn’t last, and I had to make the most of it.
I grabbed the latch on the back door of the van. Locked, of course. I yanked the door hard, testing the lock, wasting precious seconds before finally releasing it.
I heard the whirr of rotors over the fence. The drone, finally realizing it had been deked out, was spinning up to gain altitude again. It would be back in seconds.
I pulled off the backpack and dropped, worming my way under the van as quickly as I could. I dragged the pack over rough holes in the pavement, filled with pools of accumulated rainwater and motor oil. As soon as I was completely under the van, I stopped moving.
I lay quietly on my back, heart racing, and listened.
At first I heard nothing. After a moment, I could hear the two drones approaching from the mouth of the alley. They were maybe forty feet away, closing slowly.
I brought my breathing under control with an effort. It sounded ragged and very loud under the van. I forced myself to breathe slowly and calmly through my nose, through the warm fabric of the scarf.
I could hear the third drone now. It was in the alley, and it sounded like it was approaching the van from the south. It was the closest, and wind from its rotors was now starting to spit grit and small stones at my legs.
What’s your next move? I thought. It won’t be long before they find you. One infrared scan is all it will take.
I moved my head slightly to the left, until I could see the narrow span between the van and the fence. Barely five feet. Too thin for a drone. If I rolled out that way—
There was a squawk in my ear. Sergei. “You are in system,” he said. “Your image has been captured by drones and shared with surveillance algorithm.”
Sergei’s voice was probably no louder than usual, but in the cramped space under the van it sounded like a rifle shot. I resisted the urge to pluck the comm unit out of my ear and jam it into my pocket, where it wouldn’t give me away.
The third drone was nearing the van. I was getting peppered by a constant stream of dust and tiny rocks. Only the goggles kept it out of my eyes. It couldn’t be more than a dozen feet away.
It hovered in place for several seconds. It’s scanning the van, I realized. Infrared would show my handprints on the cold metal on the side of the van, and on the latch. Does it think I’m inside?
“You have not yet been identified,” said Sergei. “Do not activate device until algorithm confirms your identity. It will process new data in seconds.”
Jesus, take your time, I thought. No rush.
The two drones had now pulled up alongside the van. I was being buffeted on all sides by a mini-hurricane. Water from the potholes was splashing onto my legs. I had to keep one hand pressed against my scarf just to keep it from blowing off my face.
The pitch of one of the drones’ rotors changed. It was changing inclination.
I turned my head to the right. One of the two drones was descending, getting closer to the street.
It’s trying to see under the van, I realized.
“Stand by,” said Sergei.
I decided it probably wasn’t the best moment to simply stand by. As stealthily as I could, I started inching my way to the left side of the van.
I could hear one drone hovering by the back. And one descending on my right. But I’d lost track of the third one. Where was it?
I made it to the left side of the van. I reached up and grabbed the frame, leaning my head out until I could scan the sky.
Empty. No sign of the third drone.
The flurry of dust and flying rocks got even heavier. On my right, I saw the sleek tip of a drone starting to peek under the van.
“Stand by,” said Sergei in my ear. The drone’s rotors were so loud now that I could barely hear him.
I rolled out from under the van, dragging the backpack with me. Keeping my movements to a minimum, I scrunched up as small as I could behind the right front tire.
I kept my eyes skyward. There was no sign of movement.
Then that changed. I was hit by wind from the left as the third drone began to approach the van from the front. The van rocked slightly in the wind.
Closer. The thing had to be over the hood of the van. Any second, it would glide over the roof. I had nowhere left to run.
“Success,” said Sergei triumphantly. “Activate the device.”
I fumbled in my pocket, groping blindly. The first sliver of metal slid into view above my head.
I found the button in the center of the cold metal and turned the device on.
Without waiting to see if it had any effect, I stood up and started walking.
I strode steadily away from the van, passing less than ten feet under the drone in front. I could hear all three behind me, hovering menacingly in the air.
There were no signs of pursuit.
“Barry?” said Sergei.
I walked all the way to the street before I turned around.
All three drones were still hovering around the van. They moved about it slowly, like bumblebees around an open flower. None of them so much as turned in my direction.
“Barry?” said Sergei, a little more urgently this time.
I walked west about forty feet, until I was clear of the alley. “I’m here, Sergei.”
I heard him let out a breath and lean back in his chair. “That is good. Device functioned?”
“Sure did. On all three drones.”
“Three? There are three drones?”
“Roger that.”
Sergei actually whistled. “I did not think it could function on more than two drones simultaneously. Korean processor, inadequate for task.”