The Robots of Gotham

by Todd McAulty

  “Who are you?”

  “Immediately, Mr. Simcoe.”

  “Not until you tell me who you are.”

  “My designation will mean nothing to you, I’m afraid. You may call me Jacaranda.”

  “You’re a machine,” I said, just before I remembered where I’d heard the name Jacaranda.

  From Black Winter. It was one of the things he’d babbled when he’d been semiconscious. Find Jacaranda, and the Network of Winds. They can stop it. They can keep you alive.

  I felt a chill touch my spine. Black Winter hadn’t just been babbling. Jacaranda was real, and she was standing right in front of me. What the hell did that mean?

  If Jacaranda was real, did that mean the Bodner-Levitt extermination was real as well? It was past time I learned what that meant.

  “I am not a machine intelligence, as you understand them, no,” she said. “And now, you must leave.”

  “But you’re working with one. Who is the Network of Winds?”

  I’ve never seen a robot looked startled before. Their brains process millions of instructions per second. For a robot to look startled, you have to knock them for a loop for literally a couple million cycles.

  Jacaranda was wearing a mask, and she still managed to look startled. She took a step back, looking me up and down. “How do you know that?”

  Without another word, I turned my back on her and strode to the elevator.

  “Who was that?” Sergei said.

  “Not now,” I said.

  The elevator door opened as soon as I hit the button. Before I could take a step forward, I heard the door at the top of the stairs slam open.

  Soldiers. They moved quickly down the stairs and into the hallway, shouting crisply to each other in Spanish. Like bloodhounds on a scent trail, they began moving down the hall.

  I ducked into the elevator, punched the button for the lobby.

  The doors remained open. I heard voices, getting closer.

  I found the Door Close button, jammed it about a dozen times. Slowly, leisurely, the elevator doors began to close.

  A shout, absurdly close. The sound of feet, running toward the elevator.

  The doors closed. For a moment the elevator hung, suspended, while I listened to more muffled shouts through the metal doors. Then it began to descend.

  “Jesus,” I said. “Sergei?”

  “Here. What is your status?”

  “I’m okay. Headed for the lobby. Listen—are there soldiers in the lobby? More soldiers than before, I mean?”

  “I do not know. My access to search algorithm has been suspended. All information on Sturgeon Building has now been blocked. Even public video feeds showing outside of building are now restricted.”

  I watched the progress of the elevator. We were passing the forty-sixth floor. The forty-fourth. “What does that mean?”

  “Uncertain. Search for you has taken on new urgency. Secure protocol has been put in place.”

  The fortieth floor. “Is it likely the lobby has been locked down?”

  “Possibly. If so, is important you avoid lobby.”

  Crap. We were passing the thirty-eighth floor. “How do I get out without going through the lobby?”

  Sergei began working his machines. “Give me a moment.”

  “I’m seconds away from the lobby, Sergei. Do I go or abort?”

  “A moment.”

  The thirty-fifth floor. The thirty-third.

  I reached out, and punched the button for thirty-one.

  There was an immediate ding, and the elevator slowed. The doors opened. I got out and watched the doors close behind me. The elevator resumed its journey.

  “Yes,” said Sergei. “You should avoid lobby.”

  “I’m way ahead of you. What’s the word?”

  “I cannot access information on secure protocols for Sturgeon Building, but have queried protocols for this hotel. There is only one that requires semiautonomous algorithms be locked out—and that one also requires lobby to be secured with at least two platoons.”

  “Fast thinking, Sergei,” I said. “So if the same protocol was just put in place here, it means Quanta team has been sent to the lobby. She was telling the truth.”

  “Who is Quanta?”

  “Team of soldiers in the lobby. Keep up, Sergei.”

  “Who was telling the truth?”

  “The super-creepy robot that ambushed me on the fifty-ninth floor. Same one I saw at the Field Museum. The one messing around with the dinosaurs.”

  “She recognized you?”

  “Sure did.”

  “What is she doing in Sturgeon Building?”

  “I have no friggin’ clue,” I said. “She mentioned your name again, though. She referred to you as ‘Specialist Vulka.’ ”

  “That is disturbing. She was speaking of pathogen. What did she say?”

  “I don’t know. A lot. She wouldn’t shut up.”

  “This is critical information. You must remember what she told you.”

  “She said you were on the wrong track with its origin. It’s not a bioengineered virus; it’s something worse.”

  “Worse? What is worse?”

  “How the hell should I know? I’m still trying to figure out how she knows I have a dog.”

  I took a look around. The floor was dark and wholly abandoned. There were no walls, just great sheets of translucent plastic hanging down from metal beams. I could see the nearby buildings and the lights of the city through the distant windows—those not blocked by plastic or girders, anyway. The floor was bare concrete, and dark stacks of lumber and equipment were piled near the elevators. A broom lay on the floor not three feet away, next to a workman’s satchel.

  “If she is working with Venezuelans,” Sergei said, “then our efforts are for nothing.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out. Let’s hope she’s not.”

  “What is ‘Network of Winds’?” Sergei asked.

  I winced. I’d been hoping he hadn’t caught that. I couldn’t reveal where I’d heard of the Network of Winds without telling Sergei about Black Winter’s episode of semiconsciousness, and that would violate my promise to Black Winter. “We’ll talk about that later. Did you hear her mention the colonel? Who is he? And why does he have information on the virus? What does that mean?”

  “Colonel Hayduk is ranking officer in Chicago district with Venezuelan Military Intelligence. If they are tracking progress of virus outbreak, he will have information.”

  “Yeah, but why is he the one with data on its origin? That’s suspicious, to say the least.”

  “We will not know unless we see data.”

  “Did you catch any of what she said about cooking up a counteragent?” My fingers went to the pouch at my neck reflexively, making sure my recorder was still there. I might not be able to remember everything Jacaranda had just told me, but I had a digital record I could play for Sergei.

  “Some, yes. I can start search for bioreactor and vaporizer. But we need formula.”

  “I know. That data she mentioned is on the sixteenth floor. That’s smack-dab in the middle of Venezuelan Military Intelligence HQ. She’s sending me right into the lion’s den.”

  “It is too dangerous,” said Sergei. “You will be arrested for certain.”

  “Maybe. You found me a way out yet?”

  “Not yet.” I heard him resume typing. “There are options, but I need time. Where are you now?”

  “Thirty-first floor. I’m safe for the time being.”

  “Were soldiers in pursuit on roof?”

  “Yeah. They nearly caught me at the elevator.”

  “They will be in communication with lobby. They will find where elevator stopped, very soon. You need to find stairs.”

  “Got it. Hang on.”

  I picked a direction and started moving. There were enough sheets of translucent plastic to form an impressive maze, and in places it was so dark I couldn’t see what I was stepping on. After a few minutes I pushed my wa
y through a plastic wall and nearly tumbled headfirst through a huge hole in the floor.

  “Damn,” I said, grabbing a nearby steel beam to steady myself.

  “Problem?” said Sergei.

  “Not really,” I said. I looked around. “Looks like the construction team was mixing concrete or something up here and then lowering it to the next level through a hole in the floor. I very nearly walked into it.”

  “Be careful,” Sergei said needlessly.

  “Thanks.”

  It wasn’t hard to get around the hole, but I kept a much closer eye on the floor after that. A few minutes later I located the west stairwell.

  “Made it to the stairs,” I told Sergei.

  “Excellent. Proceed to twenty-first floor. Is also under construction; it should be safe to rest and hide while we plan exit.”

  “Not so fast. The stairs are locked up.”

  “Locked?”

  “Yeah. I can’t get inside the stairwell.”

  “Can you break lock?”

  “It’s not a padlock on a chain this time, Sergei. The door is locked. I’d have to smash through it.”

  “How long will it take?”

  I assessed the heavy metal door and the weight of the crowbar in my hands. It didn’t look promising.

  “It’s not going to happen,” I said. “It’ll take forever and make such a racket I’ll have a dozen soldiers on top of me long before that.”

  “Soldiers will be there soon regardless,” said Sergei. “You must get through door.”

  I looked back the way I’d come, thinking. “I’m not sure I do.”

  “Explain.”

  “Something she said. The robot. She said I had to ‘drop’ to the twenty-ninth floor. Not walk. Drop.”

  “You mean the hole.”

  I headed back toward the middle of the floor. “Yeah, I mean the hole.”

  It was a lot harder to locate the second time than it should have been. I walked around that confusing maze, peering around dirty sheets of plastic, playing hide-and-seek with the damn hole for over five minutes before finding it again.

  Twice I glimpsed dark, robotic figures in the shadows. The first one turned out to be a boiler; the second startled me so badly I jumped back three feet before I realized it was just a long coat, dangling from a short ceiling wire.

  “Are you all right?” Sergei asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just a little jumpy.”

  Jacaranda had told me I’d need to keep an eye out for a hostile intelligence named Standing Mars. But she’d also said I wouldn’t run into it until the sixteenth floor. I put the thought of deadly robots out of my head and concentrated on the matter at hand.

  When I found the hole, I looked over the edge at the floor below. It was covered with dark lumps, uneven piles concealed by shadowy tarps, and countless indistinct shadows.

  “Can you climb down safely?” Sergei asked.

  “Working on it.”

  On the other side of the hole was the winch they used to lower vats of concrete or something equally heavy to the floor below. It looked more or less climbable, if I could get there safely. The fastest route was around the rim of the hole, but that wasn’t a clean route. There were several girders and other obstructions that would require me to make jumps of three feet or more. Easy to miss in the dark, and the consequences would be a long fall onto a pile of rubble.

  I turned around, back into the maze. This time I cut through the plastic, making a shortcut around the hole. Within four minutes I was on the other side, next to the winch.

  I reached out, grabbed the chain. It dangled over the hole, attached to a pulley overhead. I put a little weight on it. It slid for an inch or two, making an almost musical clattering, then locked up. It took all the weight I dared put on it, leaning out nearly four feet from the edge.

  “Okay. I got a way down. I need to—”

  From somewhere not that far away came a soft ping, and the sound of sliding metal.

  Elevator doors opening.

  I let go of the chain and hunkered down at the edge of the hole, making myself as small and as invisible as I could. Listening.

  There was no sound at all. No footsteps, no voices. Not even elevator doors closing. The seconds stretched out.

  “Barry?” said Sergei.

  “Shhhh,” I whispered.

  Somewhere to my left was a soft clattering. Someone had accidentally kicked the broom. I heard a low curse.

  They were here. With no further ceremony, I grabbed the chain and kicked away from the edge, swinging out over the hole.

  Too much motion. The chain clattered loudly—far too loudly—as it swung underneath me. My legs kicked uselessly, trying to wrap around it, get some support. But all I managed was more noise.

  I climbed down. Hand over hand over hand. The greasy links of the chain were hard to hold, and twice I almost lost my grip. But oddly enough, once I was in motion the chain was less noisy. I kept my legs rigid, let my arms take my weight, and dropped rapidly down to the lower floor.

  The chain was attached to a great metal vat. I landed there first, then slipped off the rim and nearly went sprawling, whacking my ankle painfully against the side. I climbed down until I reached the floor, where there was plenty of throbbing pain as I hobbled away into the darkness, as quickly and quietly as I could.

  Ow, I thought. Ow, ow, son of a bitch ooww.

  This floor had fewer walls of translucent plastic, for which I was grateful. It made orienting myself a little easier. The floor was jammed up with crap, though—piles of tubing, lumber, great crates containing heat exchangers, shiny venting, sheets of drywall. It was like stumbling through a hardware store at midnight.

  Before I hobbled too far I stopped and took stock of the situation. Listening quietly, I could now hear voices above. I couldn’t tell if they were getting closer to the hole, but they were definitely on the move.

  Drop down to the twenty-ninth floor, I thought. She said, drop down to the twenty-ninth floor.

  “Barry?”

  “Here, Sergei,” I said, as quietly as possible. “I’m on the thirtieth floor. I found a chain and managed to climb down.”

  “Good. Find stairway, quickly.”

  “I’m looking for another hole.”

  “Hole? Why?”

  “The robot. She said to drop down to the twenty-ninth floor. I think she expected me to do this twice.”

  “I am not certain you should trust guidance from robot. We do not know who she is.”

  “I know what you mean. But she was right about the first drop—I got away just ahead of the soldiers.”

  “Soldiers are in pursuit again?”

  “Yeah. I can hear them on the floor above. They’ll be here soon, too.”

  “You do not have time to search for hole that may not exist.”

  “I’m looking for a way out of here, and I’ll take the first one I find—stairs, hole, or magic unicorn.”

  There were so many piles of construction supplies that it was nearly as much of a maze as the upper level. But in a matter of minutes I found what I was looking for.

  “There is a second hole, Sergei.” It was about forty feet west of the first and looked down at the twenty-ninth floor.

  “Fortunate.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s fortunate—there’s a ladder.”

  That ladder felt like luxury. It was stable, completely quiet, and I didn’t bruise any bones on the way down. I made it to the twenty-ninth floor and had actually taken half a dozen steps away when I reversed course and returned for the ladder.

  “What are you doing?” Sergei asked, as he listened to me huff and grunt.

  “Moving the damn ladder. If they want to follow me, they’re going to have to jump.”

  I stashed the ladder behind a four-foot-high roll of plastic wrap next to the west stairwell. When I was done, I tried the stairwell door. It was locked, which didn’t surprise me.

  I returned to the hole and listened. Not
hing. Either the soldiers hadn’t yet figured out where I’d gone, or they were following very, very quietly. Either way, I couldn’t waste any more time here.

  The robot had been right about access to the twenty-ninth floor. Her info hadn’t given me much of a head start, but I was in a better situation than I’d been in fifteen minutes ago.

  I was at a decision point. Continue trying to escape . . . or go after the data?

  “How are we doing on an exit, Sergei?”

  “Not good. I assume Sturgeon Building is following similar protocol as one I have. If so, all exits will be locked down and guarded.”

  “Shit. For how long?”

  “Until protocol is lifted. I am working on alternative exit.”

  “Alternative exit?”

  “Sturgeon Building has two sublevels. Both have access to municipal service tunnels. There are several possibilities. Best is perhaps heating duct. Duct has several exits. But access may be . . . difficult.”

  Heating ducts. “You’re still working off that twelve-year-old map?”

  “Da.”

  “And you see difficulties?”

  “Not insurmountable. But we need time to plan.”

  What was I supposed to be doing while Sergei planned? Hiding out here and hoping the soldiers didn’t find me?

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. Change of plans, Sergei. I’m taking the elevator to the fifteenth floor. I’m going after the data.”

  “Barry . . . I do not think that is advisable.”

  “I know. But you need time to plan, and I can’t just hang around here waiting to be caught. Besides, if that data is what she says it is, it’s worth the risk—you know that. It’s worth almost any risk. There’s no point either of us saving our own skins if that pathogen remains unchecked another five weeks.”

  “That does not mean this is best way to get it.”

  “Maybe not. But we’re not going to get another chance like this, and that robot was right about one thing—time is seriously running out. And who knows? Maybe this is the perfect time to go after the data. The Venezuelans are crawling all over the goddamn building, looking for me. Last place they’re going to check is their own HQ.”

  “We do not know who robot is or who she is working for. We do not know what data is or if it is encrypted. We do not know what to expect on fifteenth floor. We do not know what is ‘Standing Mars.’ ”