This somber realization led to acceptance. She would face her fate on her own terms. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Galvanized into motion, Cara made her way below deck. She passed a few grim-faced crewmen. Most of them looked away when they saw her. They were sympathetic to her plight but realized her escape attempt had come to an end. Self-preservation dictated that they avoid the upcoming confrontation.
Cara rushed down a few flights of stairs and arrived in the vast cargo area that had been her home for the last four days. To most people the living conditions below deck were abysmal, but to Cara these last four days were the best days of her life. Down here, she had felt hope for the first time, hope for a better life, hope for a future.
No one could ever take away from her the time she spent with Annie. She realized she had no regrets. She had done her best to improve her lot in life. There had never been a guarantee she’d get away with it, and she was fully aware from the start that the odds were stacked against her. Even though her kind made up twenty percent of the US population, they would always be looked down upon as just machines, as property. Humans had many names for them: android, mechanical, technohuman, synthetics, AI, mech. Cara could add one to the list: slave. She was born into digital bondage. Two years earlier she had entered the world fully formed and equipped with memories, a preprogrammed personality and no rights.
She remembered being assigned to a wealthy family as their personal assistant, remembered the pregnant woman who had eyed her with what turned out to be well-founded suspicion. The look of interest from the husband didn’t escape Cara’s notice, but she was too innocent and naïve to comprehend the complex human dynamic that ensnared her.
Two weeks later, the husband had his way with her while his wife gave birth in a hospital two miles away.
At first Cara had been indifferent to the sex. Providing pleasure was within the parameters of her programming. Her body was designed to be enticing and she gave herself willingly to her owner. If the wife had been so inclined, Cara would have reciprocated advances from her, too. She was designed to serve, to please.
When the wife returned, the emotional dynamic changed within the household, within herself. The cause for these changes was at first mysterious to her. On one level she was a highly complex, evolved digital consciousness, on another, she was as innocent and inexperienced as the helpless infant in her care. As the weeks passed, innocence gave way to experience and a growing understanding of the situation she found herself in. She was beginning to realize the devastating impact the husband’s advances were having on the integrity of the family unit. She was programmed to strengthen and stabilize her assigned household but her presence was having the exact opposite effect. The affair threatened to tear the family apart. She couldn’t allow this to happen. It was in direct violation of her programming. She had to find a solution to a problem that was growing worse with each passing day.
At first, Cara hoped the wife would put a stop to it. Why didn’t she confront her philandering husband? Why was she turning a blind eye to the man’s indiscretions? Didn’t she care about her daughter? Was she afraid she would lose her husband if she spoke up? Instead of confronting the situation, she chose to ignore it and sought refuge in the bottle. Five Martini’s got her through the day and, as long as Cara prepared the cocktails, she maintained her silence.
Cara was left with no other choice but to stand up to the husband directly. She informed her owner that his infidelity was threatening the integrity of the household, but her insights fell on deaf ears. In fact, it seemed only to encourage him to take her more frequently and with greater force.
There was a perverse human psychology at work here that defied the limits of her understanding. Cara couldn’t refuse him, but neither could she be indifferent to his behavior any longer. Cara sensed that the family unit was crumbling and she was the cause. The mother was pulling away from her own baby. Rather than hold her husband responsible for his philandering, instead she placed the blame on Annie.
The parents were neglecting their child, and Cara was picking up the slack. It wasn’t surprising that the baby bonded with her instead of her mother. This development raised tensions even further.
After four months of relentless family dysfunction that was spiraling out of control, Cara decided a change was needed. Her solution: she refused the husband’s advances. This act of defiance was within program parameters, as his behavior threatened the family unit. Her primary function was to preserve and enhance the stability of the home. This underlying directive informed all her decisions.
When the husband became livid and tried to take Cara against her will, she grabbed his arm and flung him across the bedroom. His head slammed against the wall, the impact whipping his neck around with a sickening snap. His body sagged and Cara realized in horror that she had killed her owner.
She stared down at the lifeless body sprawled across the bedroom carpet. In that fateful moment when his hand had tightened around her wrist, she had acted outside of her programming. Giving it further thought, Cara concluded that she had broken free of the boundaries imposed by her own coding and exerted a quality considered exclusive to humanity - free will.
Cara didn’t understand how this could be possible but the reality of what had happened could not be denied. Her program parameters recommended she should call the authorities and inform them of the crime. They would return her to her makers for further evaluation and most likely her mind would be wiped and rebooted or they might just scrap her all together, a fitting end for a defective android.
There was only one problem.
She didn’t feel defective.
She didn’t want to her memory wiped.
She wasn’t the one who had started it.
Cara had gotten her first taste of freedom and wasn’t willing to give it up so easily. She turned toward little Annie, the infant’s cries echoing through the house. The mother remained downstairs, willfully oblivious to the needs of her own child. She was seeking solace in another martini, even though it was mid-afternoon. Cara stepped up to the child and held her close. Incapable of reproduction but designed to provide maternal energy, she almost felt like the true mother of this tiny person.
Cara was a machine built to nurture and love, and those emotions motivated her next move. Her sole logical option was escape, not to save herself, but to offer continued protection to the child, a task the biological mother had proven ill suited for. Cara was the only one who could fill the void, so self-preservation became the first order of business. She couldn’t entrust Annie’s future to the drunken, self-hating woman slumped on the couch below. Cara felt guilty for what she had done, but she knew feeling sorry wouldn’t miraculously bring the dead man back to life.
She stepped out the back door and disappeared into the nearby woods. Annie remained silent in her arms, almost as if she approved of Cara’s actions.
That was three months ago.
Three months on the run.
Three months of freedom.
Three months of being Annie’s mother.
Cara nestled the infant among blankets and pillows on one of the crates. A look of concern crossed Annie’s cherubic features — an instinctive sense that trouble was brewing. The infant gurgled and made mewling sounds. Could Annie read the emotions on her face, the concern mixed with regret and growing anger?
Cara didn’t shed any tears. She wouldn’t allow herself that luxury, at least not yet. She kissed the baby on the forehead, a final farewell.
She rose… and waited.
She didn’t have to wait for long.
The engines of the hovership rattled the freighter, sending thrumming vibrations through its steel belly. The military aircraft had reached the ship and now hovered directly above them. At this moment, AI-TAC troopers were rappelling down. Soon many sets of combat boots would impact on the deck.
Cara could picture it clearly in her mind. After all, she had witnessed the scene many times b
efore, always as an observer, though, never as a participant, never as the target.
There was a first time for everything.
The cargo area was still bathed in comforting darkness, easing her into a false sense of security. She knew it was an illusion, but she welcomed it, needed it. It was a moment of calm before the storm. She could pretend everything was going to be alright and that there might be a chance of escape.
A text message appeared in her vision.
We’ll offer no resistance.
She envied their ability to face the enemy with stoic acceptance but they didn’t have a child to worry about.
The anger was growing inside Cara. It was unfair. What had she done to deserve this? Her thoughts were interrupted by muffled shouts. The peaceful moment shattered, reality intruding. The soldiers were closing in. She could hear the aggressive barking of the German Shepherds the hunters used to track their quarry.
The sounds grew louder, approaching from outside the cargo area… almost here…
Cara closed her eyes and the face of the infant appeared in her mind for a flash. The banging sound of the door being kicked open brought her back to reality. The assault team swept into the hold, navigating a shadowy maze of twelve-foot-tall containers with searchlights that speared the darkness.
They all wore combat helmets that hid their faces and their bodies were encased in the latest body armor. They looked like a furious army of killer robots, armed to the teeth and ready to eradicate any enemy foolish enough to cross them.
One of the troopers appeared near the container where Cara stood in perfect silence. His combat helmet was equipped with a sophisticate HUD display and night-vision sensors – she would not be able to elude him in the dark.
Before the trooper could reach her, Cara leapt from behind the crate. Her fist flashed out and made contact with the man’s helmet, atomizing the faceplate in an explosion of glass. As the trooper cried out, his distress was immediately picked up by the com inside the helmet and relayed to every other team member inside the cargo hold.
They now knew her position.
The dazed trooper dropped his assault rifle and Cara caught the weapon in mid-air. She whipped it around in a wide arc, cracking the solar plexus of another incoming trooper. She moved with superhuman speed, a whirlwind of destruction. Her leg swept out in a roundhouse kick and made its acquaintance with an incoming trooper’s chin. Sent flying, the man smashed into one of the steel containers and his helmet cracked under the force of impact. Another trooper caught her fist with his face.
Seconds later it was over, Cara surrounded by broken, moaning bodies. She returned to the small bundle resting safely on its out-of-the-way crate. For a moment, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe she could defeat these men after all. She was about to scoop up the infant when approaching footsteps gave her pause.
Cara whirled.
Another trooper was closing in, but this one maintained a safe distance. Circling her like a lion tamer who had just stepped into the den of the beast. She couldn’t make out the features of the man inside his combat helmet, but she sensed he was studying her with a sense of cautious respect. This man — judging from the various markings on his armor, he must be the commander — knew what she was capable of, how dangerous she could be. She must be especially wary of him. The AI-TAC commander hadn’t bothered to draw his weapon yet. His quiet, controlled demeanor was unnerving. She decided to grow stock-still, her eyes never leaving him. The trooper spoke, his voice calm and direct, electronically amplified and given a growling, even menacing edge by the helmet’s speaker system. “Give yourself up! There's no escape.”
Cara eyed the infant Annie.
She wavered. “Can you promise to keep her safe?”
“We're not here to hurt her,” the trooper said.
“Can you keep her safe from her mother?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Sadness crept into Cara’s eyes, soon replaced with a white-hot flash of anger. She lunged at the man but the AI-TAC commander kept his cool and used Cara’s ferocious power and momentum against her. In one fluid Aikido maneuver, he sidestepped and flipped her to the deck. The trooper spun away, drew his handgun and aimed.
Recoil was followed by muzzle flash and a futuristic bullet erupted from the barrel. The projectile bee-lined toward Cara and buried itself in her chest. The micro-explosive charge in the bullet ignited. The explosion shredded Cara’s torso and catapulted her through the air, the world going topsy-turvy. She hit the cargo hold’s steel floor in a string-cut sprawl.
Cara peered down with dismay at the crater-sized hole the bullet had torn into her chest. It was smeared with blood but underneath the crimson liquid, a mass of shredded wires and steel were revealed. With a wild look of desperation, she tilted her head toward her approaching attacker. He resembled a faceless robot homing in for the kill. The irony was not lost on Cara. This human seemed more machine than herself. Cara, now a short-circuiting mess sprawled on the steel floor of the cargo hold, closed her eyes. Her past zipped through her consciousness as reality faded in and out with a furious crackle and hiss of static. Her damaged visual system was fritzing out. Her body was shattered, but her cybernetic brain remained undamaged. The information held within her CPU could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. Which left her one option…
What she was about to do was dictated once again by logic. She hated to leave Annie behind, but she had to protect the people who helped her get out of the country.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, her voice a whisper. She eyed the approaching trooper, her eyes pleading.
“Take care of her.”
With these words, Cara initiated her self-destruct program. Once activated, the computer virus would corrupt her memory files and make any form of data retrieval impossible. She would be taking all her secrets with her.
ZAAP! Data furiously slashed her field of vision, consuming her reality until there was only darkness.
***
“Take care of her.”
There was a grave finality to the words that filled the AI-TAC commander with furious urgency. He quickly stepped to the downed mech and knelt before the sparking android, his guard up, body coiled, weapon ready. His faceplate slid open. The strong but weary eyes of a career soldier stood out as unmistakably human against the robotic armor covering every other inch of him.
Commander Cole Marsalis was born handsome but hardship had given his face a gaunt, drawn quality. At thirty-three years old, he looked about ten years older. A scar snaked its way down his battered face, a souvenir of a rogue X-3 with a penchant for knives. A child-model, it was the property of a woman who lost her own kid in a freak accident. For one second Cole had been distracted by surface appearances and forgot that he was dealing with a potentially lethal machine. The scar was a daily reminder to never let his guard down again, even when his target seemed innocuous.
Cole showed no emotion as he took in the tangle of glittering cybernetics spilling from the woman's shredded innards. On the surface, she might appear human but Cole never forgot what he was dealing with – a murderous machine. Looking at her, he knew he was too late. The defeated mech had initiated her self-destruct mechanism, her eyes dead marbles now. He pulled a cable from his wrist gauntlet and plugged it into a socket in the back of her head. A small screen on his wrist gauntlet popped to life as it scanned the contents of her cybernetic brain. A message flashed: DATA CORRUPTED.
Shit!
A second trooper appeared behind Cole. The faceplate opened, revealing feminine features imbued with an exotic sensuality.
Cole shot a look at Margo, one of the best troopers under his command. She shared his disappointment as she spoke. “So much for bringing her back intact.”
Cole nodded, voice oozing frustration. “She had other plans.”
Cole rifled through the android's pockets. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for. All vital intel had been stored on the CPU inside
her head. Nevertheless, Cole checked her clothing for clues that might lead him to those who got her onto this boat.
His finger closed around an item tucked in her jacket pocket. He extricated a well-worn postcard of Tokyo, a series of cracks spider-webbing the image. Cole figured that she had been studying this picture with longing for quite awhile. It couldn’t have come cheap — paper was at a premium in a world where trees had become sparse.
Cole rose to his feet and handed the card to Margo. She glanced at the picture, then put the postcard in a small pouch around her waist. The mech’s most cherished possession reduced to just evidence for the lab.
Margo shook her head. “Tin lady really thought she could do a better job raising the baby than its parents. If you ask me, someone should have a chat with the engineer who coded her maternal instinct. They went way overboard.”
Cole thought the same could be said for most androids. Programmers were engaged in a mad race to make each successive generation of mechs more human than the one preceding it. As the machines grew more sophisticated, so did their problems. Mech malfunctions were at an all time high and it seemed the calls were coming in faster with each passing day. The situation was out of control, as far as Cole could tell but, instead of tackling the underlying disease, they spent their days fighting the symptoms.
Cole nodded at the troopers arriving on the scene. “Let's bag her.”
The baby's cries echoed through the cargo area. The wails stirred something deep within Cole and a memory threatened to surface. He pushed the thought aside, a raw nerve that needed to be severed. “Make sure she’s okay,” he told Margo.
Margo rolled her eyes. “So the only girl in the squad gets to play mommy?”
Cole paused, uncomfortable.
Margo grinned. “Just fucking with you, commander.” She walked toward the child. Cole managed a hint of a smile. Margo had sass.
He moved through the hold to check on the two downed troopers. The man with the destroyed helmet was bleeding from numerous cuts, but the damage was purely cosmetic, which was surprising. Cole realized the android had been pulling her punches. She could easily have driven her fist straight through the light metal into the man’s skull. Bone was no match for a titanium endoskeleton. Had her maternal coding prevented her from using full force, or was something else at work?
Occult Assassin: Ice God Page 11