by Isaac Hooke
After entering the apartment, the robots proceeded to batten down the shutters from the inside.
Rade glanced at the storm clouds again. They ate up nearly all of the sky by then, and were colored an ominous greenish black. He braced himself against a sudden gust of cold wind; it felt almost strong enough to bowl him over.
The gust faded and Algorithm appeared at his side.
“You think these buildings will stand up to those winds?” Algorithm asked.
“I hope so,” Rade said.
“And what about the grape crop?” Algorithm pressed.
“That’s a question for Shaw or George,” Rade said. He truly had no idea what effect the winds would have on the grapes. Probably more than a few would be ripped away from the stems. “The fields are clear?”
“All of the robots have returned,” Algorithm said.
“Okay good, help me batten down the guesthouse!” Rade rushed to the single-story guesthouse and hurried inside. The old-style shutters all had securing bars that could be engaged by turning metal handles once the hinged panels were closed, thus protecting them from flying about in the high winds. Shaw had opened many of the shutters at the beginning of the season, because she didn’t want the interior to “overheat”—whatever that meant. He supposed she was worried about the wooden finishes and panels warping when the summer temperatures rose.
Rade moved from window to window and closed any open shutters, securing them via the handles. With Algorithm’s help, he finished in two minutes.
The pair dashed outside, passing the winery, the outbuilding where grapes were processed. The long, plank-walled structure utilized modern autonomous shutters that had already sealed.
Rade dropped off Algorithm at the robot worker apartment, then proceeded toward the main chateau, a sprawling, white-painted building with a tile roof. It was about the same length as the winery outbuilding, though twice the height. He saw that the shutters there were already secure: Shaw’s doing, no doubt. Likely Cora had helped: that was another repurposed combat robot from the Argonaut.
He dashed inside, and shut and barred the door behind him. He found Shaw and Cora in the kitchen with the twins. The two-year-olds, Alex and Sil, were perched in confusion on their toddler high chairs at the edge of the table, their eyes white with fear. Shaw had turned on the lights to make up for the low illumination levels caused by closing all the shutters.
Rade heard a loud patter as the wind threw rain droplets into the shutters that covered the kitchen windows.
Shortly thereafter, the sound increased as hail pelted the home. Thunder shook the room.
Alex and Sil both began crying. Shaw and Cora did their best to comfort the pair. Shaw scooped up Sil, and Cora, Alex.
As she patted Sil on the shoulder, Shaw muttered something while looking directly at Rade.
He couldn’t hear her voice above the din, so he asked: “Say again?”
“Almost makes me wish we had invested in some blast shields,” Shaw said, louder.
“Any update on the weather warning channel?” Rade asked.
“No,” Shaw said. “According to the channel, we’re having crystal clear blue skies out there at the moment.”
“Nice,” Rade said. “The wonders of modern sensing technology.”
When the hail died down he went to the shutters and listened.
“That wind sounds kind of strange out there,” Rade said. “More like a freight train than anything you’d hear in a normal storm.”
“It does have an odd, harsh quality to it, doesn’t it?” Cora said in that falsetto the Artificial used.
“Sort of like you’re own voice?” Rade quipped.
“That’s right, make fun of the hired help,” Cora said.
“Technically, you’re not hired help,” Rade said.
“Don’t get me started on AI rights,” Cora said.
Rade returned his attention to the shutters. He almost wanted to open them and peek at the storm outside, but he knew how easily the storm would be able to rip the shutters from his grasp, and he’d have a hell of a time closing them again.
He decided to access an external camera instead. He cycled through the feeds; a couple of the lenses were supposed to be sheltered from the rain, but every last one was covered with condensation and raindrops, distorting the view. He tried having his Implant compensate for the distortions, but he still had a hard time discerning anything out there. He finally chose a camera that seemed least affected by the rain, and waited to see if it would clear up.
A blast of wind sent droplets flying vertically into the lens, momentarily wiping clean the view, long enough for him to make out the fields, and the sky beyond.
What Rade saw made his heart drop into his stomach.
“Get the kids to the cellar!” Rade hissed.
“What is it?” Shaw said.
Rade spun on her. When she saw his face, she retreated from the kitchen without any further questions. Cora was close on her heels, followed by Rade.
The cellar had an entrance on both the inside and the outside of the house, a fact that influenced Rade’s next command.
He tapped in Algorithm and George Stanley. “I want the combat robots and farm robots in the cellar with us. Now! George, you come, too!”
“What about the drones and autonomous gatherers?” George asked, voice digitally distorting.
“Forget them!” Rade said. “No time! Sentient AIs only!”
Shaw arrived at the door to the cellar and plowed inside. Rade hurried down the stairs from the rear, closing the door behind him.
He reached the bottom of the steps. Shaw and Cora took a seat on the floor next to a wooden pillar, and they continued to whisper comforting words to the children. Racks filled with wine bottles lined the walls, next to a couple of casks. The corridor curved sharply to the right after ten meters, following the foundations of the chateau and forming the final leg of the L-shaped cellar.
Rade rounded that bend. More racks, more wine bottles. After another five meters, steps led up to a pair of barn doors sloped at an angle of forty-five degrees to the ground. Those doors provided the second entrance to the cellar, and clanged open as he watched, allowing the wind to howl inside. Centurions and farm units hurried down the stairs, with George bringing up the rear. Algorithm helped the human-like caretaker shut the doors—the wind flailed both panels about violently.
Rade held out his arm, preventing the robots at the forefront from rounding the bend, as the steel-reinforced walls composing the cellar provided the same protection everywhere, and Rade didn’t want to crowd his family. “Stay in this section. Stay here!”
The robots obeyed.
Before the sloped doors closed entirely, Rade spotted the tornado in the distance outside. He couldn’t tell what direction it headed, but he prayed it wasn’t making for the chateau.
“How the hell did the climate satellites allow that to form?” Shaw said. She had left Sil and Alex in the care of Cora, and had joined Rade at the bend.
“Dunno,” Rade said. “Something is obviously very wrong with them.”
Algorithm slid the door bar into place, securing the external cellar entrance, then the Centurion and George clambered down the stairs to join the others robots crowding that area of the cellar.
“Thank you for allowing us to shelter here,” Algorithm said.
Rade nodded absently, then left them. He and Shaw rounded the bend to rejoin Cora, and together sat with the children. They had calmed down, thanks to the robot’s efforts.
“Can some of us move past the bend?” Algorithm asked over the comm. “It’s fairly crowded here.”
“All right, four of you, no more,” Rade said.
Four robots rounded the bend of the cellar, but maintained a respectful distance from Rade and his family. Perhaps they were afraid they would be coopted as nursemaids, like Cora.
“Have you heard anything on the major news feeds?” Rade asked Cora.
Shaw was the one
who answered. “Reports are starting to trickle in on the social networks. Tornadoes are being sighted all over the PACA region.”
“That can’t be right,” Rade said. “We all know how reliable initial reports can be on social networks.”
“Yes,” Shaw said. “But the news streams are picking it up as well. The climate control system has malfunctioned. Big time.” She paused. “Apparently the tornadoes aren’t restricted to the PACA region... they’re touching down all over France. So far we’re up to at least a hundred, most ranging from F0 to F4s, with a couple of F5s.”
“How many tornadoes do we have in our immediate vicinity?” Rade asked.
“According to what I can gather from the news,” Shaw said. “Just one. But it’s at F4 strength currently.”
A quick check of the Fujita scale on his Implant told him an F4 was a step below the most powerful tornado known to humankind. Still capable of causing devastating damage, unfortunately. And it could easily uproot trees and grapevines, not to mention the chateau itself.
The hail began anew, pounding into the cellar; the loudest sound came from the doors around the bend. Rade was reminded of certain moments in combat when his mech was assailed by projectiles, or passing through space debris.
That freight train sound grew louder until Rade was sure the tornado was passing right over them. He glanced at Alex and Sil. Cora and Shaw were covering the twins bodily, and the pair whimpered underneath them.
Rade joined them, adding his body to the shield.
He half-expected the house to be torn away from above them, and to find himself staring up into the heart of the vortex. If the roof was sucked away, he planned to tightly wrap his arms around one or both of his children, entwine his feet about a pillar, and hang on for dear life. He would have to hope that Shaw survived, because at the moment, the children took precedence.
Fortunately the roof didn’t tear away, and the freight train sound began to recede, along with the noisy bombardment of hail; shortly both faded entirely, leaving only the gentle patter of rain against the cellar. The howls of the wind had also diminished drastically.
Alex and Sil remained calm on the floor underneath him, their former terror giving way to confused worry.
Rade removed himself from the human shield.
We’ve survived.
Now it was time to assess the damage.
three
Rade accessed the different camera feeds, which had mostly cleared up now that the storm had ended.
“It seems the estate emerged unscathed,” Rade announced. “Incredibly. Though it looks like we lost quite a few roof tiles because of the winds.”
“Yes,” Shaw told him. “But otherwise unscathed, like you said. The same can’t be said for the country house and outbuildings of the neighboring estate. Take a look at camera 7D.”
Rade switched to the aforementioned camera feed. Shaw had zoomed in on the neighbor’s chateau and winery. Or rather, where the buildings used to reside. Only concrete foundations remained in place of the former, and dirt the latter. The view zoomed out, revealing the field where the tornado had carved a trail of destruction, ripping away grapevines, trees, and any other objects that had resided within its path. Even the grass had been scoured from the ground where the tornado touched.
“We have to look for survivors,” Shaw said. “The news is saying that the final tally came in at just over two hundred tornadoes touching down across the country. So emergency services won’t be arriving for quite a while.”
“Algorithm,” Rade instructed. “You, Brat, Ernie and Formaldehyde will accompany me. We’re going to search for survivors. Shaw, you pilot the drones. Provide aerial reconnaissance.”
“I can do that while with you,” Shaw said.
Rade glanced at her, then Cora. The twins would be in good hands with the robot. “All right. You come, too.”
Rade, Shaw and the four robots proceeded upstairs and left the chateau. There was no sign of the tornado, and the rain had diminished to a gentle drizzle at that point.
The six of them hopped into the electroactuated, closed-top jeep and the autonomous system drove them across to the neighbor’s estate. Above, Shaw’s drones fanned out in the sky, rain shields in place. They were fulfilling the roles of HS3 scouts—the hover squad support system units preferred by the military, and Rade.
He accepted a call from Tahoe during the ride. “Rade, are you all right?”
“A little shaken,” Rade said. “But otherwise fine. I’m guessing you guys were hit with a severe storm system like the rest of us?”
“If by severe, you mean tornadoes, then yes,” Tahoe said.
“I was hoping you missed out,” Rade commented.
“No such luck,” Tahoe said.
“We had an F4 up here,” Rade told him.
“The weather grid operators have messed up big time,” Tahoe said. “Tell me that the vineyard survived?”
“It did,” Rade said. “The tornado missed us, but the neighbor didn’t fare so well. We’re headed there now to look for survivors.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tahoe said. “We’ve got a bit of a cleanup operation here, too. We’re all fine, our villas were missed, but it looks like an F3 swept clear through Saint Tropez. We’re heading to the city to help with cleanup and rescue operations.”
“All right, well, keep me updated,” Rade said.
“Will do.” Tahoe disconnected.
The jeep turned onto the rural road that ran between the two estates. As it turned onto the neighbor’s land, Rade noticed a strange substance hanging from the branches of the trees that lined the estate.
“What’s that pink stuff on the trees?” Shaw asked.
“Insulation,” Algorithm replied. “Torn from the neighbor’s country house. Deposited in the trees by the tornado.”
Following the dirt road onto the estate, they passed the debris that the tornado had strewn about. Two-by-fours torn from grape trellises protruded from the ground like thrown javelins. Mangled machinery was wrapped in barbed wire fencing. Uprooted trees resided in the middle of the field.
The tornado’s route was visible by the grass it had scoured from the Earth. As the twister had cut in front of the house and passed across the dirt road, the scouring had deepened: the tornado had dug a rare trench, half a meter at its deepest, twenty meters wide, and two hundred meters long. Dig wasn’t the right word... essentially, the downward pressure from the rotating vortex had “blown” the dirt away.
The jeep paused before that thick, muddy rut in the road.
“Detecting potential hazard,” the autonomous unit in charge of the jeep said.
Rade glanced at the chewed up fields on either side, which were filled with mangled grapevines and the trellises they grew on.
“We can’t really go around,” Rade said. “Can you navigate across it?”
“I believe so,” the unit said. “But it will get bumpy.”
Rade glanced at Shaw and the passengers. “Hang on. Jeep, drive.”
The jeep tilted precariously forward but then leveled out as it entered the rut. Rade was jostled about as the vehicle hit rocks and roots embedded in the wet, uneven ground. Then the jeep tilted backward as it climbed the far side of the rut; the wheels struggled for a moment to clear the mud near the top, but then the vehicle found traction and emerged onto the road once more.
At the chateau ruins, Rade surveyed the foundations, walking along the perimeter. Some areas were covered in debris, and he picked his way across broken wood, plaster, and glass.
Below, he could see the empty basement, and the exposed cellar connected to it—the floor was covered in shattered wine bottles.
“Algorithm, Brat, get down there,” Rade instructed.
The robots leaped down into the exposed basement, splashing into the shallow mixture of water and wine that had collected on the floor. They began searching underneath fallen pillars, planks and the like.
Rade continued his circle
of the perimeter with Shaw. He occasionally paused to survey the field beyond. The outbuilding that had housed the humanoid farm robots was gone, but a Quonset remained intact: the front door had been ripped off, and Rade could see the farming machines inside—drones and picker units. He dispatched Ernie and Formaldehyde to the Quonset, and the robots confirmed that none of the machines possessed AIs, and thus he couldn’t confirm whether the owners were home when the storm hit.
“One of my drones found the bodies of three humanoid robots,” Shaw said a short while later. “They look pretty mangled.”
“Ernie, Formaldehyde,” Rade said. “Check out those wreckages. See if the AI cores are salvageable. Shaw, relay the coordinates.”
The robots spread out and reported in a while later.
“We’ve examined all three robots,” Ernie transmitted. “I’m sad to report that the cores are not salvageable.”
“Too bad,” Rade said.
“The drones finished their aerial survey of the estate,” Shaw said. “They didn’t pick up any other bodies lying anywhere in the fields.”
“Maybe the owners decided to travel into town for the weekend,” Rade said.
“I sincerely hope that’s where they went,” Shaw said. “And that their bodies aren’t lying in some field five kilometers away.”
“I hope so, too,” Rade said. “They were nice people.”
Shaw paused, cocking her head. “This is strange.”
“What is it?” Rade asked.
“I’ve been monitoring the news feeds all this time,” she said. “The storm systems have begun to clear up, at least in France. At first the news channels were speculating that Russian or Nigerian hackers were responsible for the grid tragedy, but other countries are reporting similar deadly disturbances in their weather grid. Italy. England. Russia. Japan. Even Africa, and North and South America.”
“Makes you wonder why we ever allowed such a powerful grid to be created,” Rade said.
“The grid is powerful,” Shaw agreed. “But not this powerful. There were supposed to be checks and balances in place to prevent storm supercells such as these from ever forming. Massive cold fronts mixing with massive warm fronts... it’s not supposed to happen.”