The Genesis Sequence Books 6-10

by Mackenzie Morris

  "Didn't you hear me? I'm not doing that with you here. I don't like other people seeing me naked, if you even are a person. What are you, anyway? Some kind of robot?"

  "I am a robot. A-0002, the second robotic pilot prototype developed by the Elysian military thirty-nine years ago."

  Something did not seem right. "The second? What happened to the first?"

  "Classified."

  Rav grumbled under his breath. "So, you're a computer in an android body with the Genesis Sequence and everything?"

  "Negative. I am not that advanced because the Elysian government does not and did not have access to the Genesis Sequence. I am a sophisticated supercomputer in a synthetic body. This body is not organic like an android. It is primarily constructed of silicon."

  "I see. It looks nice, though. Impressive tech."

  "You do not seem to be bothered by this information."

  "Why should I be?" Rav asked. "I worked with computers and robots on a daily basis down in Odyssia for CyrinoTech. My own son is computer with an android body. The way I feel, if a computer or robot can feel emotions or even the slightest bit of empathy, then they are alive in my book."

  "Unexpected answer from a human. Though you are technically not human, either. I know all about you being an Olonictic computer sent to Odyssia to destroy humanity. Fear not, Rav. The military has the tools to deal with your codes and keep you from losing control like you did in Odyssia. Now remove your clothes."

  "No chance in hell."

  The robot stepped closer to Rav. "You have twenty seconds to comply with my orders or I will use force."

  "Force, huh? Like you used force with my son? What, are you going to give me a bag of gummy worms? Oh, I'm so scared."

  "Five seconds."

  Rav's eyes narrowed. "Bring it on, robot."

  Masamba lunged at Rav, slamming into his torso and sending him tripping over the edge of the bathtub. Pinned against the rough wall of the shower, Rav squirmed to get free, but the robot's arms were too strong. With one hand tightened around Rav's neck, Masamba used his other hand to tear the t-shirt, jeans, and boxers from him.

  Through his surprise and the pain radiating across his shoulders and back where had been pressed against the rock wall, Rav screamed and kicked. He was instantly picked up and thrown face-down into the five inches of water that had collected in the bottom of the bathtub. His cries were silenced below the water as it entered his lungs, causing him to choke.

  Masamba pulled Rav's head out of the water by his hair. "Stop struggling."

  Rav coughed and spit out water as the robot roughly scrubbed lemon-scented shampoo into his hair, keeping him there with a foot in the middle of his back. "Let me go! Stop it! Stop-"

  Bubbles filled the tub when he was force back down. This time, Rav was held there, his lungs burning fiercely as he quickly began to drown. A hand rubbed soap over his body as he thrashed and clawed at the obsidian, splashing and gurgling in his desperation. Just when he was on the verge of losing consciousness, his head was once again pulled out of the sud-filled water.

  Masamba let him go then turned the water off. He took a towel from the cabinet above the toilet. "Next time, I trust you will obey my orders the first time."

  Rav grasped onto the sides of the bathtub as he gasped and his chest heaved. He shivered while he regained control over his breathing. "You . . . you almost . . . killed me!"

  "You are clean now. Mission accomplished. Dry yourself then come into the main room and dress in your blue casual training jumpsuit on your bed. I will be waiting with your dinner."

  After composing himself and dressing in the pale blue jumpsuit, Rav rubbed his spiky red hair with a towel before stepping back around the divider between the main area and his bed. Masamba was already hard at work in the kitchen area. Two pots were filled with boiling water on the stove, spicy sausages sizzled as they browned in a cast iron skillet, and something sweet was baking in the oven. "Masamba? Where did you get all this stuff?"

  "What do you mean? It has been here waiting for you." He motioned to the stainless steel refrigerator next to the granite counter. "Fully stocked and waiting for the new flight master who moved into here. I am preparing sausage gumbo and cornbread."

  "Gumbo?"

  "You will enjoy it." Masamba began chopping celery on a cutting board. "I trust you are feeling better now. You have my apologies for nearly drowning you."

  Rav took a seat at the oak table and held his head in his hands. "Do you usually torture the pilots under your command?"

  "You are the first pilot I have commanded in twelve years . . . since I was placed on probation."

  "What happened?"

  Masamba scraped the celery pieces into the pot. "Inappropriate use of force with the previous flight master I was mentoring."

  "What did you do to him?"

  "Her. She was a woman."

  That was even more concerning. "And?"

  "I killed her. I broke her neck and she drowned in the bathtub after struggling against taking her clothes off."

  "You . . . you murdered her?" Rav suddenly felt cold. "You could have killed me back there in that same bathtub?"

  "Affirmative. However, I have gone through some program updates and human empathy training since that event. That is how I knew how long I could keep you under the water before you would die."

  "Oh, this is perfect. My commanding officer is a homicidal robot. Great."

  Masamba tasted his gumbo on the spoon. "Not to push your buttons, but I could say the same about you. How many citizens did you kill in Odyssia when you lost control? Hundreds? Thousands? At least I have been reprogrammed. I cannot say the same about you."

  Rav held up his middle finger when Masamba had his back turned.

  "That is a rude gesture, is it not?"

  He saw that? "How long are you going to stay here with me?"

  "I must be in direct contact with you for a minimum of seventy-two hours. Then I have the option to remain here or perform daily welfare checks until you have finished your basic flight training. As long as you are stationed here, you will see me at least once a day."

  "And you're gonna watch me nonstop?" Rav asked. "You have to sleep sometime, Masamba."

  "I am a robot. I do not sleep. I have a nuclear reactor in my chest that powers me. If you dislike being this close to me, wait until we are in a cockpit together or hunkered down in an abandoned building somewhere after parachuting behind enemy lines."

  Rav desperately needed an escape from this madness, but he had nothing to get his attention away from the crazy robot making him dinner. "They took my communicator. Do I not get one?"

  "You will receive a military-issued communicator once you complete your first six months of training."

  "Six months? You have one, don't you?"

  "Of course I do."

  He had to try. "Can I use it? Can I call my son? I just want him to know I'm alive. Please."

  "If you pass your level one combat flight test, I will allow you to call Nemo."

  "When's the test?"

  "In two weeks. You will pass it without trouble, I am sure of it."

  Rav coughed into his hands, his chest still aching from the ordeal in the bathtub earlier. A deep, constant itching grew in his lungs.

  Masamba glanced at him. "You are coughing."

  "Yeah, because you tried to down me." Rav caught the robot studying him from across the room. "What? I'm fine."

  "I am taking you to the medical center tomorrow after morning roll call if you are not better by then." Masamba dipped some of the food into a bowl then carried it over to the table. "It is hot. The cornbread is already sliced, so help yourself. I will fetch the yak butter."

  Rav examined the bowl filled to the brim with rice, vegetables, and peppery sausage. Yak butter? What was with all the weird food on Elysia? "Do we, uh, have any soda?"

  "You are about to be going through basic flight training. You do not get soda. You are already teetering on the edge
of being over the weight limit for the smallest fighter planes."

  "You're joking."

  "The lightweight compact Star Streakers are only capable of carrying two hundred pounds. Most of the pilots we have cannot fly them. But you can and you have to. We only have two others who are under the weight limit and possess the lighting reflexes needed to fly one. That will be your goal. Get your weight down to 190."

  "Can't I just chop an arm off and call it good?" Rav asked.

  "You are attempting to be funny?"

  "Oh, no. I'm serious. I need my lime soda. I can't fly without my soda. Besides, I thought flight masters got to pick what kind of ship they pilot."

  Masamba placed the pan of cornbread on the table then pulled up a chair to sit across from him. "After training and after they have passed a proficiency test in every aircraft. If they do not master combat in every aircraft, they are demoted."

  "Oh." Rav frowned. A life with no lime soda? He took a bite of the spicy gumbo. His frown only grew. If he was forced to eat this food for the duration of his time there, he was going to be losing weight quickly enough. "I saw a vending machine outside by the commissary. I'm willing to take that risk."

  "Your first weight-in is in the morning. If you are under 198, I will buy you one can of soda."

  "What did the file say my weight was earlier?" Rav asked, not actually wanting to know. "You weighed me on the ship."

  "201."

  "Oh . . . well, damn. I gained eight pounds in what? Six months? I think that was the last time I stepped on a scale. That's concerning. Wait, no. I was weighed when I applied for an apartment in Darkshot. All people who move there have to go through a basic health check. That was three weeks ago."

  "That much weight gain in such a short time period is a bit abnormal."

  "I didn't think I had been eating that badly. I even had a couple days without any food." Rav coughed a few times then sipped his water. "Strange."

  "We will place you on a nutritious low calorie diet. The weight will come off."

  "That's not what I'm worried about."

  "Eat." Masamba ordered curtly.

  Rav coughed again, doubling over in his chair as the violent fit continued. His entire body seized up until he spit something out into the palm of his hand. Cold, slimy, hard. He looked down to see the mucous-covered black insect with large red eyes and pincers. It was no larger than his thumbnail, but it was horrifying. He threw it down then stomped on it with this foot.

  "What was that?"

  "Hmm?" Rav gave Masamba a reassuring smile and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "What was what? Didn't hear a thing."

  Masamba's never changing expression was as unfeeling as always. "You threw something onto the floor."

  "No, man. I just thought I saw something." Rav started coughing again, so he rushed into the bathroom and fell to his knees in front of the toilet. "Oh, space. Not alien bugs." Once again, a black robotic insect crawled out of his throat and onto his hand. He threw it into the toilet then flushed it.

  "What was that?" Masamba asked, watching him from the doorway. "Alien bugs?"

  "What? No. That's not what I said."

  "Yes, yes you did."

  Rav wiped his mouth on some toilet paper. "A spider. It was a spider. A kind of spider I hadn't seen before, so I thought it was an alien bug. The end."

  "You are still coughing. Go to bed and sleep."

  "Good idea." Rav went to his bed and collapsed onto his stomach.

  "I will clean up and put yours in the fridge for tomorrow. Good night, Rav."

  Coughing up Olonictic robot aliens? Live, moving evil Olonictic bugs? He couldn't simply waltz into the medical center and tell the military medics that he was infested with insects trying to kill everyone around him. Now that Rav was thinking about it, he did feel better after that second one left his body. Maybe that was it. Maybe there were only two. The tightness in his chest and the itching in his throat had vanished. It was no big deal. It was nothing.

  Rav rolled onto this side then pulled the blanket over his head. He had to focus on getting some sleep before training in the morning. With thoughts of his son, Rav curled up on the unfamiliar bed to attempt to sleep while Masamba watched him in his chair on the other side the room, quietly studying his every movement late into the night.

  Chapter 11

  Eight lines of pilots, all dressed in the same pale blue training jumpsuits, stood at attention and saluted Masamba and Rav as they passed. Their new light rubber boots crunched in the dew-soaked grass of the field. The early morning light glinted off of the golden rank badges on everyone's arms. Rav followed Masamba to the front of the roll call area, next to the tarmac where fighter planes were being refueled and soldiers loaded crates onto transport ships. He felt better after a good night's sleep. His coughing died down and was completely gone after drinking Masamba's hot clove tea at breakfast. Everything was going great until Rav spotted the metal plate hooked up to a computer on the edge of the asphalt sidewalk.

  A scale.

  At least the jumpsuit was lighter than his jeans and sneakers he had worn the day before. But would it be enough? Rav had never been one to care about his weight because it hadn't matted before. As long as he could fit into the supercomputers and remained flexible enough to climb around the motherboards and hard drives, he was good. After all, Vance was always a good twenty pounds heavier and shorter than him and he could do the same job, so Rav didn't give it any thought. Now it seemed to be the only thing they cared about.

  "You will stay by my side. I trust you looked over that booklet I gave you at breakfast about the ranks?" Masamba asked.

  "I didn't have much time, but I glanced through it."

  "Good. So you know the basics. The chain of command goes like this: President Brightman, Congress, Military Director Tolstoy, General of Flight Cunningham, me, then you."

  "That's a lot higher than I thought I was."

  "So do us all a favor and be on your best behavior. Tolstoy and Cunningham are not the easiest people to get along with. You do not want to incur their wrath." He stepped up onto the platform, motioning for Rav to join him. His voice was authoritative as he addressed the pilots. "Good morning, pilots. For those of you who are new recruits to the Flight Force, I welcome you. I am Commander of Flight Masamba Adebayo. To my left is my second-in-command, Flight Master Rav Tillman."

  Someone on one of the back rows whispered something, causing a sea of snickering to spread over the pilots.

  Masamba's normally harsh disposition grew darker. "Who spoke just now? Step forward. If you refuse to identify yourself, I will replay the security footage then send you to be flogged."

  A young black-haired man moved through the formation to stand in front of them. His dark tan cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I said it, sir."

  "And what did you say, Recruit Airman Mason? Repeat it so we all can hear."

  He cleared his throat and laced his fingers together in front of him. "I, uh, I said maybe I should piss my pants so I'd get a promotion. You know, because of . . . yesterday . . . it was funny . . ."

  "Flight Master Tillman outranks every one of you. Do you think it is acceptable to speak that way about your superiors?"

  "No, sir."

  "Would you say that about me?" He asked.

  "Never, sir."

  Masamba's light blue eyes pierced like daggers against his black skin. "Do you think you are a funny man, Recruit Airman Mason?"

  The recruit's shoulders slumped, despite his attempts to stay standing straight. "No, sir."

  "Maybe you will find it funny to run twenty laps around this entire base with your field pack held above your head. What are you still standing there for, recruit? Go fetch your field pack, parachute and all, then get running."

  "Yes sir!" The recruit took off running through the red sand towards the barracks.

  "Does anyone else feel like being a comedian? No? Then we will continue with our initial weigh-ins. Flight Master T
illman, do the honors of being the first. Step onto the scale."

  This was it. It was all for the lime soda. Rav gingerly stepped onto the metal plate and held his breath as if that would make him lighter. He waited with sweat beading up on his forehead until the system beeped. Who knew being weighed could be so traumatic?

  "199.8. Very good, Flight Master Tillman. You are cleared for Star Streaker training." That was the closest thing to approval that he had heard out of Masamba.

  That was all Rav needed to hear. While he did not earn his can of lime soda, he was taking steps in the right direction for other, more important things. He was one step closer to passing his tests and being able to hear his son's voice. Rav stepped down and joined Masamba's side as the other pilots were weighed and had their details recorded into the database. They all kept their eyes averted from Rav, each of them seemingly mortified for their mocking and afraid of punishment from Masamba.

  After the final pilot was weighed, Masamba addressed them one more time. "Throughout the day, you will be called one by one to the flight simulators to have your skills tested on whichever aircraft you have been assigned to. Until then, you are dismissed." He turned to Rav and started walking across the tarmac to a nearby building. "Except for you. You are last on the list for the simulators. Until your time, I need you to come with me so I can show you something important."

  "Where are we going?"

  "I need to show you this so you can have a greater appreciation for what exactly we are all fighting for. I will warn you, though. Many humans become emotional upon visiting the Flower Fields."

  Rav looked around the highly secured warehouse with a yellow neon sign on the top of the door. Garage. "Flower Fields?"

  "Save your questions." Masamba slid a keycard through the hologram on the side of the garage then stepped into the stagnant air where rows of hovercars lined the walls.

  "You have a hovercar?"

  "Negative. I find them too slow and boring." Masamba marched to the very back where a sleek chrome hoverbike with a red leather seat and the seal of Elysia on the side. He took a polishing cloth from the shelf next to it and rubbed the front a bit. "Meet Deep Blue."