There Where the Power Lies (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga Book 2)

by C. Martens

  Mixing a drink for his employer, Andy tried to pay attention to what transpired outside the car as well. His first trip to China was educational. Traffic was stop and go on the elevated freeway. They were in one of the many rush hours Shanghai experienced every day. He could see many of the projects that drove this thriving economy as they moved along. After the great Chinese real estate collapse due to massive overbuilding a few years ago, they had recovered well. Better than the American and European collapse of the early century. Bringing in North Korean immigrants had helped. Now they were back to building skyscrapers by the mile again, though in fewer numbers.

  Most people commuted by bus or train for any distance, but private cars were common. Electricity from huge dams made electric automobiles increasingly popular, and they had in recent years replaced most older vehicles. Between that and the new pollution rules, the air cleared substantially. The population was no longer as slender as in the past because they drove or rode instead of walked. The beggars that frequented the tourist areas had disappeared long ago, so Andy missed that aspect of the old China. He would not see swaddled human mutations living on a cookie sheet on the sidewalk soliciting generosity. He would not see terribly burnt men in Chinese military uniforms, or young women with lower limbs twisted and hardened above their heads in fantastic shapes, sitting on wheeled pieces of padded plywood. The modern China dealt with ugliness in ways that were only rumored about.

  Soon the traffic began to move at a steady, slow pace. Though rare, occasionally there were tangles of wire in the air where people would splice into the grid. It was an accepted practice to steal electricity in earlier days, but rarer now as solar options became more prevalent. Open air markets flourished off the freeway sides, where entrepreneurs set up temporary shops and fought their way out of poverty. From what Andy could see, the population was industrious, had an affinity for humor, and was absolutely ruthless in anything to turn a buck. It was no wonder the United States had failed to maintain its hold in top corporate spots. They were simply outmatched.

  The hotel loomed. As the great car rolled to a stop, Andy leapt out and surveyed the vicinity. The door of the automobile remained shut as he glanced sharply about. His evaluation was so swift that most would not have noticed that he had exited the still rolling car and shut the door behind him. Satisfied that there was no threat, he opened the door for the Prince just after it came to a full stop.

  Prince Bilal lived with security procedures, and if he knew anything, he knew and appreciated their necessity. Andy was one of the best, and he respected Andy as he did few people. On occasion he would even make a gesture to Andy. He was sure it was appreciated. How could it be otherwise when a Royal went slumming to show that he understood the under classes?

  The Prince stepped from the car and swiftly made his way into the hotel. Andy moved abreast of him as he should. The two in the car had split up, one ahead and one behind.

  The car was left to be parked by an attendant. Bilal had plans to stay and see some of the sights as well as touring the nightclubs. The car would see several miles before it found a berth in the belly of a specially equipped airplane, to be taken to wherever the next destination would be.

  At the elevator another of the security team waited with the door open. He discouraged anyone approaching that might think the elevator was available for use. The Prince entered, and then the doorman and Andy followed. The other two security men stationed themselves in the lobby. They would be informed if the Prince should desire to exit the building and would move to either side of the elevator doors as they opened with the Prince inside. In the meantime, they would stay vigilant in the lobby and inform the top floor of anything suspicious.

  On reaching the penthouse floor, the elevator came to a stop. The doors did not open immediately as Andy had pushed a button that kept them shut. He spoke softly to a man stationed in the hall outside. They had a code sequence to ensure that Andy knew what to expect. If the man said one particular phrase, it meant there was a gun to his head, and the elevator would go to another floor with a safe room. Another code word meant that the elevator would descend to the parking garage where there was a waiting, nondescript armored car. In this case there was no danger, and Andy pushed the button to open the doors. He exited with gun drawn, making sure there was nothing suspicious. He trusted the man in the hall, Buru, more than any other on the security detail, but he trusted no one completely.

  Moving to the door of the suite, Buru, a slender black man of incredible strength considering his frame, moved inside, aware of everything. The line of young women that had formed in the entry hall was of particular interest, but they had little chance of hiding any weapons considering how they were dressed. Still, he hesitated and inspected them. It was no trouble at all. One or two of them were so young he felt sorry for them. It would be their first time and not something they would enjoy the memory of...if they survived. But Buru was paid to ignore things, and he would. His family in Africa would benefit by his ability to ignore the foul Prince and his strange appetites. At least there were no boys this time.

  Closing the door softly behind Prince Bilal, Andy chose to stifle his disgust as well. He would stay outside in the hall, swapping stations with his dark skinned accomplice. He felt it was a dirty trick on Buru, but he pulled rank anyway. This way if the Prince met with justice, Buru would be the instrument, and Andy would make sure he had a head start in his escape. The one time Andy had witnessed the aftermath of Bilal’s lust, he felt a mighty urge to end the man but was prevented by a cool hand on his arm. Now Buru was paying for that, and Andy was trying to avoid knowledge of what went on. Thank God the suite was soundproofed.

  Chapter 2

  A piece of shell in the frying pan needed to be removed. Abdiel carefully probed with the spatula, retrieving it without injuring the egg. The Prince Bilal would not enjoy his eggs if they were marred in any way.

  The Royal butler continued with assigned duties, draining the bacon that the Prince enjoyed so much whenever he was alone and not in the company of other Muslims. Trusting Abdiel to be discrete, Bilal was comfortable eating pork when away from home.

  Soon the elaborate gold tray was filled with a traditional American breakfast. Eggs up, bacon, fried potatoes, sourdough toast with salted butter, all encased by a warmed golden cover, and a bowl of fresh cantaloupe on the side. Coffee, freshly ground, with new cream, finished the arrangement. The only concession to the Prince’s heritage was a small bowl of baharat. The spice was never used, but the Prince insisted that it be on the table. Sometimes he would dip the tips of his fingers in it, just enough to attain the scent, and then placing his fingers under his nose, he would gently inhale.

  Holding the laden tray overhead, Abdiel ignored Buru, stationed outside, and moved to the closed door of the Prince’s bedchamber, tapped lightly, and without waiting eased the door open just far enough to slip through. Spinning smoothly and bringing the tray to waist height, Abdiel approached the side of the bed.

  Prince Bilal, spread eagled on his stomach, opened one eye and appraised his servant. He spoke in Arabic, “Over there, Abdiel, on the balcony.”

  Abdiel retreated backwards, bowing slightly until at a sufficient distance, then spun and moved to the French doors, opening them to the warm morning. Having anticipated the Prince using the partially covered balcony, Abdiel had the table already set with fine linen, ornate silverware, and a carafe of chilled lemon water, as well as a crystal goblet.

  Naked, Bilal scooped up a robe from the back of a chair and followed his butler into the sunshine. He squinted.

  “Abdiel, I’d like some orange juice. Take the melon back with you, and bring the tablet. I’d like to see what the markets are doing.”

  Putting his robe on, leaving the front open to catch any breeze, and moving to the edge of the portico, Bilal looked straight down from his aerie. Everything was so small from here, and that was as it should be.

  He contemplated the night before. Some migh
t find it strange that the women he had abused were the least of his thoughts. They had disappeared sometime in the night after he had fallen asleep and held no interest for him. His ruminations were about the event. It had gone well. No one suspected anything, he was positive, and his uncle would be pleased.

  A stray breeze reminded him that his breakfast was waiting. Feeling invincible, he ambled over to the table and sat, just as Abdiel arrived with his juice. He reached for it, taking the glass directly from his butler’s appendage.

  The tablet was being carried by Abdiel behind its back. Its auxiliary arms, something not usually seen as they were normally carried nested into its primary arms, were fully capable of being used either front or back. Still, it was always shocking to Bilal whenever he saw them. He remembered the first time he was introduced to the robot.

  §

  The sudden call, made in the middle of the night and from his uncle, came as a surprise. Not that it was unusual for his uncle to call on him, it was just the hour that was unusual.

  A security team, not his own, waited for him at his door. Andy had the month off, and Danny, the security man in charge, was unhappy. Without any prior notice, this late call seemed very strange.

  “Stand down, Daniel. These men are my uncle’s. The Sheik requires my presence.” The Prince was adamant with Dan. “I must go…be still.”

  “Pardon, sir, but this is not protocol. I’ll accompany you myself without the others. I must insist.”

  “You will not insist,” the Prince barked, and Daniel quailed at the tone. “You will stand down and do as you are told. This is not a negotiation, Daniel. You will stand down.”

  Soon Bilal was on a plane, flying to an unknown location. Only one of the strange security men remained with him. The airplane flew for several hours, window shades closed so they could not see out. When they landed, he deplaned alone inside a hanger, the security man remaining with the aircraft. A car awaited him, its windows cloaked. It was positioned with the door open so the driver would not see him as he entered. As soon as the door closed, the electric vehicle accelerated silently away.

  The Prince was already aware of much of the ultimate plan, but he had no idea what he would be a part of this evening. It mattered little. Uncle would reward him in ways beyond his own imagining for his loyalty when the time came.

  The car lurched to a halt. Bilal exited the vehicle inside a huge building. As he turned his back to it, the automobile sped away, leaving through a door that was only partially open and was closed immediately.

  Bilal walked toward several people standing in a group. His uncle, the tallest and most imposing of the group, ignored him in favor of finishing his conversation with another man.

  A lab-coated employee approached Prince Bilal from the group. He held out his hand to be shaken, and Bilal would have ignored it if he had not made eye contact with his waiting uncle who, with a slight nod and the minute dip of his eyelids, made Bilal aware of the necessity to be cordial. Gripping the man’s hand as lightly as he could, he joined the group. His uncle and he traded traditional greetings.

  “Keefak haal, Uncle?” asked Bilal, inquiring of his uncle’s health.

  His uncle replied in English, “I am well, Bilal. Your flight was pleasant?”

  The Prince nodded his affirmation, and taking his cue spoke in English as well, “Yes, Uncle…but naturally I am curious.”

  Sheik Akil bin Salmud Al Saud sighed internally. His nephew was always impatient, among his many failings. At least he did not reek of bacon as he sometimes did.

  “That will be satisfied, Nephew, but first you must meet our hosts. These men have provided what we were looking for at long last.”

  Introductions were made all around. The Prince was the only Arab other than the Sheik, and so handshakes were prescribed. Of the several men, the Prince decided only two required his attention. One was the man in charge of the facility, Jonathon, and the other man was not introduced as having a position, but he was dressed in very expensive, well-tailored clothing. His shoes probably cost what many on the public dole were provided in a year. He was just as hesitant to shake hands as the Prince, and his name was not offered.

  After a minimal amount of small talk, Jonathon, the American in charge, proposed that they adjourn to the next room. He held his wrist close to his mouth as he whispered into it. They entered an even larger room than the other, and Bilal stood amazed. The space was filled with what appeared to be a large, brightly colored obstacle course, vast in area, but also massive in the size of the obstacles. They were too large to be intended for a human use. All about the floor there were small groups of robots. They stood in small, tight formations, gathered at the base of the various constructions.

  It took a moment for Bilal to get over his initial amazement, but soon he noticed that around the walls there were several kinds of areas containing a variety of types of equipment. He noted a kitchen, a machine shop, a forge, and several enclosures with animals.

  Standing closest to him was a group of what he took to be house robots. He was familiar with them but not impressed. They were intellectually sluggish and lacked fine coordination compared to a man. Robotics had made some amazing progress to get to this point in the last several years. They were useful, manufactured in small numbers to be leased to wealthy clients, but they could only do rudimentary labor. The military used some large versions for carrying equipment, but these examples were more or less fancy vacuum cleaners or pool men. They might do some laundry or fold and put away clothing, but that was the extreme of their capabilities.

  Stepping forward, Jonathon invited the Sheik, his nephew, and the well-dressed man to advance ahead of the others. Two of the group left behind melted toward desks which had banks of technical equipment adjoining. They stroked a couple of screens, and the room came alive.

  Each of the robots in the room stood up straighter. Their posture had not been noticeably slouched before, but now they straightened imperceptibly and seemed aware. Where they had stood with their heads forward, now they each looked directly at the newly arrived humans. Prince Bilal felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. The house robots next to him suddenly seemed more sinister and self-aware than he was familiar with.

  “Well,” Jonathon said, pride obvious in his voice, “What would you like to see first?”

  The quiet man that Bilal had taken to be American spoke up right away and in a British accent, “I want to see if they can build themselves. That’s what has been critical to this whole venture. If they can’t do that, we’ve wasted a trip here.”

  Jonathon’s face darkened, not in anger but in disappointment. Apparently he had other ideas that he would have liked to illustrate. The Sheik, realizing this, suggested quietly and diplomatically to the Brit that Jonathon should present his own demonstration. The well-heeled Briton shrugged and acquiesced silently.

  Brightening, Jonathon became the ring master of his circus. He flourished his arms in grand gestures as he commanded the room. Each group of robots was addressed individually, using oral instructions. One of each group peeled off and choosing the obstacle nearest, demonstrated its capability to conquer it. Then they moved on to the next, running as though they were human. Soon each obstacle was being continuously negotiated. The twenty-foot-tall wall was scaled by each robot standing at its base, jumping to grab the edge before they clambered over, dropping lightly to the floor. The hundred-foot rope was climbed using only the upper limbs. Crossing the horizontal ladder, each rung ten feet from the other, was made to look easy.

  It took a moment for the spectators to realize what was missing. There was almost no noise. Certainly, these were no house robots. There were subtle differences in appearance, each of the new models made exactly as the other, but still similar enough that from a distance it would have been hard to tell that they were not of the same mold.

  Looking at each of his companions in turn, Prince Bilal could see that they were as impressed as he. He could al
so see that both his uncle and the Brit had questions that were not satisfied. They were here to see more than feats of physical strength and coordination, and the scientist was ready. Leaving the bots to continue their display on the obstacle course, he lifted his hand and beckoned to one of the four house robots standing close to him. Leaning close to its aural receptors, he whispered something inaudible. The device turned and advanced toward the middle of the room. Jonathon positioned his wrist close to his mouth.

  A robot from one of the formations across the room broke ranks. The mechanical stepped forward, and suddenly, much like a martial arts professional might, spun and kicked and somersaulted. The two robots came together, crouched as though in a wrestling match, and rushed to a collision. They flailed at each other, the shriek of metal being rent loud in the air. The house robot was clearly outmatched. Soon there were parts littering the floor with the newer model standing over them, triumphant. It appeared unharmed.

  Jonathon motioned to the three house robots still standing close to them, and two peeled off and began to advance on the robot in the center of the room.

  “Isn’t this a waste of valuable equipment?” the expensive suit suggested.

  “It doesn’t matter,” answered Jonathon. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  In a short while the two house robots, made martyrs, lay scattered in pieces. The updated model once again stood unscathed.

  A smile played across the head scientist’s face. He was enjoying this. The Sheik seemed intrigued as well. He stood with arms folded across his chest, a finger raised in thought to his mouth as he watched the display. Jonathon motioned to the last house robot.