Unity

by Jeremy Robinson

  31

  “You what?” I’m so surprised that my voice rises to an octave so high that I’m not sure it was me who spoke.

  “Well, I didn’t invent everything. The psy-controls, the sensory mesh, the repulse engines. All of that already existed. Some of the tech is based on the old model ExoFrames, but I think they applied some of my advances to the model Quinlan was using. From what I can see, they used my visual design and load-bearing adaptations. I can only guess that a lot of what we can’t see is also based on my design. Including the Support Striker.”

  “That the big curved triangle?” Gwen asks.

  “They’re much more than that,” Daniel says, “and yes.”

  “How old were you when you came up with this?” I ask. Daniel is thirteen, and coming up with something like this seems impossible even for someone twice his age. But then, he wouldn’t be here and be a Base if he wasn’t brilliant.

  He shrugs. “Eight when I started. Nine when I finished.”

  Geez.

  “But I didn’t build them,” Daniel says. “I just worked out the science. And the math. And the designs. Unity built them. I think.”

  “Why did you design them?” Hutch asks. “Aside from them being awesome.”

  Daniel smiles at the compliment and says, “Uncle Jack asked me to.”

  “Uncle Jack.” Gwen sounds as dubious as I feel. Daniel’s knowledge of these...Shugoten makes him suspect. Of what, I don’t know. Of knowing more than he told us, I suppose. Though he does look just as surprised to see them as we do.

  “He’s not really my uncle. He’s an old friend of my parents. I think they were in the military together. They didn’t talk about it, though. Both of them work for Unity, but I’m not sure how. I thought the Shugoten design was like an exercise. A test.”

  “You spent a year on a test?” Gwen asks.

  “I wanted to impress them,” he says. “I was a kid.”

  Gwen grunts, confusion leading to frustration. “You still are a kid.”

  “He’s more than that,” Sig grumbles, just loud enough for me and Gwen to hear her.

  Message received, Sig. If she takes him seriously, we should, too. Gwen squeezes her lips together, working hard to do the same.

  “What are they for?” The question comes from Vegas, who looks neither amused nor confused. He’s more interested than anything else, probably seeing the potential the robots possess while the rest of us marvel at their existence. Ghost looks ready to answer, but Vegas puts a hand on his shoulder. He wants Daniel to answer.

  “I dunno,” Daniel says.

  Vegas makes brief eye contact with me and then looks down at Daniel. What he says next is for my benefit. He’s proving a point. “Why did you design them so big?”

  Daniel scrunches up his face. “Uncle Jack told me to imagine that massive...” His eyes widen. “No...no way!”

  “Daniel,” I say, my impatience skyrocketing into nuclear territory. “Spill it.”

  “I designed them to fight daikaiju. Giant monsters. Like Godzilla or Nemesis.”

  “What kind of giant monsters, exactly?” I ask.

  Another shrug. “Size was the only criteria I was given.”

  “Can they get us off this island?” Duff asks, looking through the window with a kind of eager desperation. He has probably wanted off this island since the moment he set foot on it.

  “Absolutely,” Daniel says. “Though everyone would need to learn how to operate one, or a Support Striker. They’re not transports. One operator in each.”

  “People ride in those?” I ask, once again peering up at the nearest Shugoten.

  “Operate them. With psy-controls.”

  When I sense Hutch’s attention, I give him a defensive, “What?”

  “You’re smiling,” he says.

  I don’t feel it until he tells me, but part of me is definitely liking the idea of controlling a four-hundred-foot tall robot. But I’ve never used psy-controls. And I don’t know what a neural mesh is. The odds of me not face-planting a Shugoten out of the gate are pretty slim. “Before we try anything that might result in death or the destruction of this facility, let’s get things up and running. See if we can’t contact the outside world.”

  Daniel, Gizmo, Sig and Duff are suddenly on the task. They each hurry to a different terminal. Within seconds, the room fills with the familiar whir of technology. The ambient glow of screens feels familiar and comforting. I hadn’t realized how much I missed civilization.

  “It’s a typical Unity system,” Daniel says. “Thirty seconds to boot. Another thirty to establish a satellite connection.”

  If there are any left, I think, and I’m sure Vegas is thinking the same thing.

  Gwen and Ghost join the others at the computer stations, looking on as the four Bases work their fingers over the keyboards, each accessing one system or another. When I see Hutch looking back at them, I say, “Go ahead. I’m okay.”

  “I’ll keep her upright if she needs it,” Vegas says, eyes on the Shugoten.

  Hutch looks unsure, but relaxes when I put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all okay now. You can let your guard down for a minute. And make sure Daniel and Gizmo don’t start having wrestling matches with the giant robots.”

  Hutch smiles and nods before joining the others, sliding up next to Gwen and watching over Sig’s shoulder.

  I’m alone with Vegas.

  “Still think they’re for fighting aliens?” I ask.

  “What else?”

  “Besides people?” I say, thinking I’m stating the obvious.

  “Unity doesn’t attack people. It’s contrary to everything we’re about.”

  “Good to know,” I say, feeling like a newbie once again.

  “Eff,” he says, and the familiar use of my name sounds strange coming from him, but also nice.

  “Yeah,” I say, relaxing as some of the tension drains from my battered psyche.

  He taps on the glass twice, pointing to his left.

  The Shugoten standing to the left of the operations center is structurally similar to the white one on our right, but it’s painted in shades of gray and jet black with orange eyes and orange stripes, once again tracing the arms and legs and converging as a Unity triangle. But there’s another splash of color, on the back of its right hand. A Point symbol, red on the top and black on the sides and bottom, which confirms that these mammoth machines are meant to be operated by people like me and Vegas. But it’s what is below the Point symbol that blows my mind.

  There are letters, written in a classic serial number style font.

  F-B0MB-001

  “What...the...” I lean closer, like I’ll suddenly be able to see something different.

  “Isn’t that you?” Vegas adds.

  “It’s my nickname,” I say.

  “I think they made it your handle.” Vegas is all smiles now. “A handle is—”

  “I know what it is.” I limp my way along the window, getting closer to the Shugoten that bears my name. My hand drags over the glass, squeaking, resisting the pull the rest of me feels.

  “Greetings and congratulations.” The voice is loud and newly familiar. I hobble back to look at the big screen mounted above me. My mother is there. Seeing her again reawakens a nearly forgotten ache. I turn to Daniel, “Is this—”

  He raises his hands in the air, understanding her significance.

  Be safe.

  Be strong.

  Speak well.

  Euphemia.

  “It’s a recording. It’s playing on its own,” he says.

  “If you have made it this far, you have exceeded our expectations and proved yourselves worthy of advancement. The moment you entered the Unity Bunker, we were notified. A team of personal trainers has already been dispatched and will reach you within seven hours. Upon their arrival, your training with everything you see here will commence.”

  No mention of aliens. Nothing about saving the world.

  “Until then,
please enjoy the comforts of this facility. The mess, bunks and gym are all at your disposal.”

  There’s no tapping. No secret message. There doesn’t need to be. The letters stenciled on the Shugoten’s hand are message enough.

  Did she do that?

  Did she rush me through the program, send me to this island and hope I would survive, find my way here and discover...this? Sorry I abandoned you, here’s a robot and a gym. Hope we’re good now.

  Feeling manipulated and controlled, I’m starting to understand why Vegas and his people opted to hide from Unity. Being a puppet does not feel good. And when the person pulling the strings is someone who screwed up your life...it’s even worse.

  “Your future will be bright,” she says, and it suddenly feels like she’s talking to me again. “And the world will thank you for your service.” She gives a nod, and the screen reverts back to a barebones Unity operating system.

  “Who was that?” Sig says to me. “You look upset.”

  “My mother,” I tell her, and I see all of my emotions reflected in her face. She knows what this means. How I feel. And now she’s feeling it with me.

  “Aww,” says a mechanical voice. “Did I miss the family reunion?”

  We turn around as a group, simultaneously gasping, as Quinlan steps into Operations. He’s still wearing the damaged, but functional-enough ExoFrame, which is now decorated by two hands hanging from a chain around his robot neck. One is a Support and one’s a Base.

  32

  What do you say when a psycho walks into a room, dressed in a robot suit, with two hands for decoration?

  Nothing.

  You say nothing.

  Not out loud, anyway. If you’re the praying type, you do that. No one can hear the whisper in your head, which if I were a normal person, would probably be something basic, like: Please God, please God, please God. I can see him sitting on a cloud, long white beard dangling, looking down and thinking, Please what?

  But the words that fill my head are a question. A rhetorical question. The kind I loathe, but I’m sure God gets all the time: Are you serious?

  I’m not even sure if the question is directed at a higher power, or just the best I can come up with. We’re weaponless. Most of us are injured. I’m really injured. And now we’re trapped in a room with a killing machine, and there are giant robots, just out of reach, that could squash Quinlan like a bug. Granted, a punch from a Shugoten would probably kill everyone in this room, but at least we’d go out fighting.

  Quinlan takes a step closer, extending the blade from his forearm. He’s not going to waste time punching. He’s just going to cut us up and be on his merry way. But it’s worse than that. With us gone, he’ll have access to the Shugoten, too. And then what? He’ll become some kind of mad super villain? Stomp through some cities?

  No, I think. Unity would have some kind of failsafe shutdown or self-destruct...

  I try to hide my widening eyes as the idea takes root.

  “Get him talking,” I whisper to Vegas.

  “Quin,” Vegas says, stepping forward. While he moves, I move, inching my way closer to Daniel’s station.

  “I’m afraid there is no sacrifice you can offer, Vegas. You and your Point girlfriend are dead. Here and now.”

  The intent behind his words isn’t veiled. He’s planning on killing Vegas and me and enslaving the others. I’m a little surprised he didn’t mention Berg—a Point. But Berg has been submissive from the start, acting out of fear. And maybe with Vegas dead, Ghost will fall in line, too.

  Vegas stands at the bottom of the curved staircase connecting the bottom and top of the theater-style control room. It would take nothing for Quinlan to leap down and impale Vegas. But he holds his ground.

  “You can kill me if you want, Quin,” Vegas says, and the way he abbreviates Quinlan’s name makes me think they were friends once. Maybe that’s why Vegas is still alive? Maybe that’s why Vegas survived all this time? “But I think you should see what’s here first. See what we’ve earned.”

  I pretty much can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is he being serious or simply buying time, like I asked him to? Either way, it’s working. Quinlan is completely focused on Vegas.

  “Duff,” Vegas says. “Can you show him what’s in the hangar?”

  “Y-yeah,” Duff says. His breathing sounds labored. He must have thought he’d been freed from Quinlan. But now, the master is back. How bad will retribution be for him? Probably lethal, especially with several more Bases available to take his place.

  The wall of screens behind me fill with security camera views of the hangar. The Shugoten are revealed in full, their size, style and design even more impressive when seen head to toe.

  While Quinlan is transfixed by the display, I lean closer to Daniel and whisper, “Do the Shugoten have a remote override?”

  His eyes ask a silent question, ‘what for?’ But then he nods.

  “We don’t have to hide anymore,” Vegas says. “Don’t have to fight.”

  “You said the ExoFrame borrowed from your design,” I whisper.

  His eyes go still, like he’s suddenly worried about being caught. His fingers start moving over the keyboard, slowly, keeping the keys from tapping out a ‘come kill me’ code to Quinlan. But the big man seems distracted enough.

  “Look at them.” Vegas sweeps his hand up at the largest screen, showing a close up of the white Shugoten’s face. Despite being masked and having green eyes, there’s something in the furrowed brow that says the powerless Guardian Angel disapproves of Vegas’s words. “Four hundred feet tall. The controls match the ExoFrames. The two of us could sink the Unity carrier together. We could be gods.”

  “I have been telling you that all year,” Quinlan says. The robotic modulation of his voice keeps me from hearing whether or not he’s angered by Vegas’s words, or relieved.

  Quinlan raises the tip of his long blade up toward Vegas. “We could have all been Diablos.”

  Uh-oh...

  “We could have found this place together.” Quinlan takes a single step down, which for him is an entire flight. He could reach Vegas in three strides.

  “Daniel,” I say, trying to spur him on.

  “Trying,” he says through clenched teeth. “I don’t have the access code.”

  “Try his name.”

  “I did.” He says this a little too loudly.

  Quinlan’s head snaps toward me. “And you.” He glances at his wounded shoulder. At the limp arm. I did that to him. It’s an injury he’s never going to forget, in part because it will probably hurt forever, but also because he’s a sexist and I’m a girl. “You’re going to—”

  The array of screens blink to a new image. Earth from high above. A satellite’s view.

  Before anyone can ask, or Quinlan can complain, Sig says, “I can’t find any active communication satellites still working, but there are a number of spy satellites still locked in geosynchronous orbits.” She sounds unruffled by what’s happening around her, like she hasn’t even heard the pre-slaughter banter. And maybe she hasn’t. When she gets in her zone, the rest of the world slides away.

  The blue-green image of Earth draws my attention. For a moment, I’m lost, but then I see the boot-shaped Italy, upside down at the top of the image. The satellite is over Europe. And even from this distance, I can see that something is wrong.

  Europe is burning.

  Columns of smoke rise from France, Spain, Germany and Italy, but the worst is the UK, which is hidden beneath a black cloud. It’s like volcanoes have risen up across the continent, belching out soot.

  To my surprise, it’s Quinlan who asks the first question.

  “What are those?”

  At first, I think he’s talking about the smoke columns, but then I notice an aberration in the image. There are large specks pocking the landscape, like the satellite’s lens is dirty.

  “Can you zoom in?” I ask Sig.

  Her answer is seen on the screen. The image clos
es in on Germany, stopping miles above Berlin. We could probably get close enough to identify a single person, but there’s no need. The thing above where Berlin is supposed to be is larger than the city itself. And there’s no doubt about what we’re seeing.

  Vegas was right.

  We’ve been invaded.

  The black ship is miles long, hovering a mile above the ground, blotting out the landscape. Long spines extend from the front. Or is it the back? They look a little bit like something nature would create for defense. Like porcupine quills. But I think they’re probably antenna of some kind.

  “This—this isn’t possible,” Duff says.

  Small black dots move in and out of the picture, some heading toward the city and others heading away. It’s some kind of mothership.

  “How many of these are there?” I ask.

  Around the room, small fingers work keys. Several of the smaller screens around the room hop between various satellite feeds, shifting through different qualities, positions and heights. While the screens shift faster than I can think, Sig has her head raised, seeing it all.

  “Fifty-seven,” Sig says. “That we can see. There could be more, on Earth, or not.”

  Fifty-seven, city-sized, alien spaceships.

  Alien.

  Spaceships.

  The one over Berlin wasn’t a mothership at all, but just one of a fleet of carriers. This is an honest-to-goodness, old school invasion. Stephen Hawking was right.

  I glance at Sig and say, “There are predators on the rabbit island now.”

  She nods like she was thinking the same thing.

  Then the largest screen locks in place over a city whose coastline I recognize. San Diego. Home of Unity. Other than the coast, there is nothing about the city I recognize. There is no alien carrier here, but the view is perhaps more shocking. Resting at the center of a crater at the city’s core is something like a fleshy seed that’s been peeled open on one side. The crater must be a mile wide. The city beyond it has toppled away from the impact. Millions of people would have died.

  My eyes drift to the coast. Some of the city litters the ocean, either blown there or dragged there by the retreating tsunami that would have rushed from the island to the U.S. coast the night we arrived here. Is that when they arrived? When all this started? We’ve been on this island playing native while the world was overrun by beings from another world.