by C A Gleason
He inserted a few digits and wiggled them back and forth until a panel slipped to the side.
Inside was a touch screen glowing blue. A power button at the center strobed. Some sort of sleep mode. Even after all these years, the robot had power. He pushed the power button and the screen lit up brighter.
There were digital buttons designating three options. The options seemed to be training programs.
OFFENSE, DEFENSE, and MULTIPLE ATTACKS were selectable.
Seemed simple enough.
Yohiro enjoyed helping his father at the store, but learning the ways of the sword? He’d never been so motivated about anything in his life. And he hadn’t even begun!
Still, he reveled in every moment. This is what he was supposed to do with his life and he should have been doing something like it all along. He wished he would have discovered the lower levels of the bunker sooner.
First, he needed more space; he would need as much room as possible, so he went to work clearing the obstacles littering the floor of the exercise room.
Either piling it all in one place or taking it out and placing it into another room altogether, careful not to block his way in case he needed to leave in a hurry.
For some reason, he continued to picture the exterior of the bunker hovering over a deep pit, attached to cables, and if it fell, it would fall into open nothingness forever, taking him along with it. Even more reason not to waste time.
Spotting a broom, he even swept the shards of mirror into a pile. The robot would have as much unobstructed floor space as it required. It would be unacceptable if the robot was damaged getting hung up on something he could have cleaned up.
Sweeping was what he did best, so he’d be stupid to allow such a mistake.
Once done, he gave the exercise room a last inspection to confirm it was to standard for what he imagined, as best he could in the dim light, and decided he was ready.
There was no way to know how to begin properly, so he pressed the digital button arrowing toward the DEFENSE program.
It highlighted and gave him the option to proceed by pressing YES or NO.
He hoped pressing yes meant he would be on offense, and the robot would be defending his attacks. Not the other way around.
For a father to learn his son was decapitated by a rich man’s toy in a dilapidated bunker would be very embarrassing. Yohiro could imagine what might be said on the radio, people laughing about it as the story was broadcasted over the net, even though it wouldn’t be entirely true.
Still, he would do his best not to end up as another untrue story. Then again, the lone witness would be the robot. By the time someone else came along and discovered the bunker, his corpse would probably be as ashy white as the skeleton he saw on the floor above.
Upon tapping YES on the touch screen, the robot immediately came to life with a cough of power, and he was ready to duck if its sword arced toward him. That didn’t happen. Instead there was a flash of green light out of the back of it as a measured grid.
The ancient tech silently blanketed the room, mapping its surroundings, which included Yohiro. The function was brief. An example of advancements in Earth technology.
The green light blinked off and then the robot used both its mechanical hands to raise the sword, and Yohiro was again thankful he wasn’t attacked.
It might be possible for the robot to be deranged, but what better way to train someone for combat than to attack in a way not expected?
Yohiro raised his sword as well and as the program activated, there were wet grinding sounds. It was the Sword-bot acknowledging his movement. There was a rush of something coursing through it.
Some kind of lubricant or air?
He wondered until it raised its arms up, elbows higher than both mechanical fists holding the sword, the way the warriors from Earth did.
And like in the pictures Yohiro saw in his books. He didn’t know if they held their swords that way in real life, or they were drawn for dramatic effect, but he wanted to emulate them.
“WAITING FOR ENGAGEMENT.”
31. Yohiro
The electronic, grinding voice was for effect. It was how he imagined a robot’s voice sounded like when he was a child.
Yohiro heard of robots looking and acting—and were even mistaken for—real humans, so the design of the Sword-bot was intended as something unmistakably machine-like. No doubt for safety reasons. And maybe nostalgia for whoever designed it.
The Sword-bot was extremely mobile on its wheels and moved smoothly over the floor, even anticipatory. It was built to withstand powerful blows and would probably right itself if it got knocked over. But it also was likely programmed not to. Light drew Yohiro’s attention.
He glanced down at his sword and noticed a crisscrossing grid pattern in green. When he looked at as much of himself as he could see, the grid covered him in a similar way the mapping light shone out from the rear of the Sword-bot. After he had activated the training program.
The light would probably remain. It made sense. To Yohiro it looked like the Sword-bot was glowing, but it was actually projecting light technology allowing it to track movement.
It wasn’t bothersome. It was similar to viewing pleasant sunlight through curtains. The overlay of light was noticeable when he looked down at himself and saw the faint square, crisscrossing grid.
The Sword-bot was obviously waiting for Yohiro to make the first move, which meant there were safety measures embedded deeply into its programmed hardware.
What a relief.
No lost appendages—or his head—yet.
He raised his sword and tried to find his best grip, holding it up and to the side two-handed, how the Sword-bot was doing and how he’d seen the warriors from Earth grip the weapons in the books. He thought it was probably best to mimic what a professional program was doing.
When Yohiro mirrored the form he must have done it correctly, maybe even perfectly, because a green light lit up briefly in the robot’s face.
“CORRECT,” it grinded. “STAND BY.”
The Sword-bot wheeled left and right, forward and back, and the sword it held was almost completely immobile.
“RESUME TRAINING.”
Its loosening movements must have been necessary having been a statue toppled over for centuries. It needed to warm up its mechanisms, the way Yohiro needed to stretch his muscles sometimes.
Sweat formed on his forehead already. It was quite warm in the exercise room but that wasn’t entirely the reason he was sweating. All of this was intense. And thrilling.
It seemed to be waiting for Yohiro to advance. He didn’t know. He hesitated as he wasn’t sure how to begin.
But then he slashed downward, an attempt to strike at the Sword-bot’s torso, to see what it would do.
It blocked his slash instantly and gently pushed his sword downward. A red light flashed within its face this time.
Then it rolled back to where it was before it moved to block his slash. Its starting position.
Exhaling, Yohiro slashed from the opposite side, but again the Sword-bot blocked his sword and pushed it downward. Yohiro raised his sword to begin from the same position. The red light flashed, and he was already frustrated. He’d really tried.
Yohiro stabbed forward, and the Sword-bot moved quickly to the side with a subtle block.
Red light.
Then Yohiro went all out, swinging over and over with the intent of continuing until he struck the thing.
The Sword-bot blocked, wheeled to the side, wheeled backward, and consistently remained untouched.
After the last strike of his onslaught—the robot was out of reach—it tapped his sword and pushed it away.
Red light.
It was not going well. He thought for sure he’d be doing better than this even though he’d never done it before. There were other training programs. Maybe he chose the wrong one?
He was a beginner, but he sensed his own skill. He sensed his potential for greatness. He w
as sure of it. He’d always sensed it, so he was positive he could do better. He inhaled and exhaled as calmly as he could muster.
Mimicking the proper form again, and clasping the sword handle between both hands and raising his elbows high, and once again moving the sword to the right, his dominant side, he was ready.
He briefly considered trying to trick the machine by using his left side but he was thinking too much. He needed to get the basics of the training down before he started going beyond what he knew he was capable of.
This time he faked a slash, spun in the other direction, and struck the Sword-bot along the shoulder.
Metal on metal rang out throughout the dilapidated exercise room.
And even echoed upward throughout the bunker.
A green light flashed in its face, and its electronic, grinding voice said, “A HIT.”
Yohiro lowered his sword, and the Sword-bot did the same, mirroring him. It sent out a series of green flashes, then seemed to reboot. The DEFENSE program seemed to be over. He was glad he hadn’t made a mistake.
Again Yohiro imagined being chased down and killed by some deranged robot and his father’s shame.
“DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?”
Lowering his sword and walking forward, Yohiro pushed the digital arrow until the OFFENSE program was selected. Then he tapped YES.
This time the Sword-bot raised its sword one handed and instantly started moving forward. It was almost as if it were trying to mimic someone without skill.
Yohiro raised his sword defensively, as the Sword-bot had held its sword when he selected the defense program.
He sure hoped he was correct and possessed natural skill. He would know soon enough. If he survived the training.
Yohiro expertly held his sword outward, and blocked strike after strike after strike from the Sword-bot. He didn’t even know how he was doing it. He simply was.
He also wasn’t sure how long the attack was going to go on for, but after ten attempts on his life, the robot suddenly froze.
Green light.
“DEFENSE AND OFFENSE TRAINING PROGRAMS COMPLETE. PROCEED TO THE FINAL LEVEL?”
The Sword-bot’s face emitted a light strobe.
Carefully, Yohiro approached the robot thinking it might be a trick, which could be part of the training, when he noticed he could select YES or NO. He pushed YES.
“PLEASE ENTER EXACT WEIGHT. MISINFORMATION MAY LEAD TO MISCALCULATION OF FORCE. IS THIS UNDERSTOOD?”
The point of its programming was training, not killing, not for this robot anyway, so no doubt it could sense if a blade penetrated skin and could probably halt the momentum of a blow. It would be wise to go by the book.
Except there was no book. Yohiro was in control of everything going on down here. Exhilaration coursed through him. He believed in himself, in his own skill, and was about to prove it. Not only for himself, but for his father.
There hadn’t been much risk so far, based on his assumptions of the Sword-bot’s safety measures, but what he was about to do would be highly dangerous. He entered a number.
Red light.
“A BODY WEIGHT OF THREE-HUNDRED POUNDS HAS BEEN ENTERED. IS THIS CORRECT?”
The robot might be able to calculate he didn’t weigh so much. He wasn’t sure how. He pushed YES anyway.
“INCORRECT WEIGHT INPUT MAY RESULT IN DEATH. IS THIS UNDERSTOOD?”
He eyed NO…but pushed YES.
“PROCEED WITH MULTIPLE ATTACKS TRAINING?”
Yohiro got chills, but didn’t even hesitate. He pushed YES again. Then he stepped away.
As there was an affirming green light by the Sword-bot, it rolled and readied itself.
Yohiro glanced down briefly to see the grid pattern over him, and then raised his sword.
32. Onnin
Royah had buried her helmet in the ground a ways back, mentioning she didn’t want to litter after offering it to him for trade, and just another relic from Home’s past now. When she’d asked him if he’d wanted it, he’d shaken his head.
He also nodded to communicate whenever he could get away with it. Not much had ever been expected from him for various, superficial reasons. He didn’t know as many words as everyone else anyway.
Well, he heard them and knew them, but didn’t have the opportunity to say them because he wasn’t part of many conversations. People either shunned him, were afraid of him, or avoided him altogether.
The woman was annoyed with him for a different reason than how he annoyed others. She disliked his silence. She was uncomfortable with it.
She ignored his nodding or shaking of his head, or didn’t see him do it, or pretended not to, and she actually wanted him to talk to her. She’d been trying to make conversation with him, since he agreed to join her and protect her on her quest.
He shouldn’t have told her his name. Now she knew he could speak and it seemed that she expected him to. He was not prepared and felt flustered. He didn’t like it.
She was a very pretty woman. The prettiest he’d ever seen. But he would never tell her. She might ask him to leave if he did. He was nervous she might and didn’t want to risk opening up. He wasn’t in the presence of someone nice in so long, he couldn’t remember.
Other emergers pretended to be nice as they tricked or plotted against him. The woman was doing neither of those things. Her company was pleasant no matter how temporary it would end up being.
She would likely want to get away from him sooner or later, so he would enjoy her company as long as it lasted.
They stopped when they needed to—to attend to the baby’s urination or defecation—which seemed to be all the time, as she was feeding regularly. At least her insides were working. She was having to do necessities so much, Onnin wondered if something was wrong with her.
He didn’t ask Royah because she didn’t seem worried and she was a woman. If she wasn’t worried, then he wouldn’t be either.
As he carefully walked alongside her, making sure he didn’t accidentally get too close or step on her feet or hurt her some other way, he thought about what she mentioned about east.
He told her it was dangerous, and that was true, but not because of any poison. He was trying to prevent her from going altogether.
A beautiful woman like her? Beyond Easto? It was dangerous for the same reason it was for all women. He didn’t like to think about it. He saw too much of it during his life, and also in his nightmares.
There were those who still believed no one could live immersed in poison, but of course they could. In fact, it didn’t make sense anyone believed it wasn’t possible. All emergers were essentially born into it.
It was well known that emergers were born after the war, yet the rumors of how deadly poison was, still persisted. But all of Home was poisoned.
He also heard vitamins added to the plants caused immunity from whatever poison there was on Home. Protein plants contained every vitamin the human body needed. But also ancestors of emergers were genetically modified to withstand life here. Which meant all emergers could.
Onnin knew much about himself, was sure of himself in many ways, and he wasn’t the smartest, but even he figured out what the smarter people hadn’t.
Rumors of poison danger was probably made up by people who wanted the land for themselves or to protect the innocent minded.
The part about the outliers was true, how the east was occupied with folks who’d rather not call a town home, and they were mostly men after all, and men could hardly prevent their need to explore.
But poison? The misconception was purposeful. It kept the masses away.
Royah was doing her best to keep up with him, but he wasn’t used to slowing to a normal sized person’s pace. His large arms swung back and forth, driving powerful strides stretching twice as far as the average person was capable of.
At first he didn’t hesitate to show off how fast he could stride and how he was the right choice to protect her, but she seemed annoyed by it, so he slowed down.
Still, he would get her to where she was going, faster than anyone. Anyone without a scoutbike. But maybe a scoutbike was something they would be able to obtain along the way.
Onnin thought of heading another direction, a safer path, but what held him back was much of the protein plants now grew between Westo and Easto for some reason, more so than anywhere else between the quadrants, as far as he knew. They needed to travel where the food was.
And Royah’s quest was the perfect excuse to head where he always wanted to explore.
Royah was silent for a while and seemed to give up on changing his appreciation for quiet, but then obviously grew bored of it. She quickened her stride to match his and was suddenly looking over at him expectantly.
Was he supposed to know what she was thinking? Onnin made the mistake of looking over at her.
“Do you know who did this? Who was responsible? For the war, I mean.”
Everyone was always looking for answers. Trying to solve the mystery of Home. To find out what they didn’t know, so they could report what they learned back to their group or gossip over the radio.
The knowledge would change nothing, but Royah seemed to be no different. She wanted to know things too. Maybe if he kept quiet, she would stop talking.
When he talked, his voice tended to get people to leave, and he didn’t want Royah to ask him to go.
“Of course you don’t know. Why would you? And if you did, why would you tell me? We’re only walking right next to each other. And I’m watching over a baby, who doesn’t have a name and who you forced me to take care of by shooting at me.”
She waited for a response. Briefly.
“Why would you also have the common decency to respond to my questions? I thought so at first, but maybe it was better I thought not. This is obviously how it is when not within the confines of a civilized town.”
Her words hinted at humor. Maybe she could tell how funny he thought things were sometimes.
She was staring, holding the baby in one arm, but also struggling to keep up with him. He could have lengthened his stride to go even faster, but it would defeat the purpose of going along with her.