City 1

by Gregg Rosenblum

  “Of course! What are we going to do, live out here like wildmen, waiting for rebels or the plague to kill us?”

  “There’s no such thing as the plague,” Cass had said weakly, and her father just scowled and shook his head.

  She tried, as they hiked, to come up with a way to keep them away from the new City. She wanted them in a Freepost, living free from the bots. But a small part of her—a part that she hated but couldn’t get to shut up—wondered if they would actually be better off in a City. The City life, bot control, was what they knew. Was she making a mistake, trying to force them away from the life that made them happy?

  On the morning of the fourth day, they crested a long, low hill, and looked down into a valley at a City, a half mile away. It was smaller than City 73—most of the buildings were one- and two-story white structures, bot-design, except for the center of the City, which contained a nucleus of taller, pre-Rev buildings.

  Her father let out a whoop of joy, and hugged his wife, who Cass saw was crying. Cass watched them, saddened, but also happy for them. This would be their home, she realized. This is what they needed. She’d say good-bye to them here on this crest, and watch them walk down into the valley and enter the City, and then she’d never see them again.

  Cass was still looking at her parents when the first bomb exploded. She saw the flash of light reflect on their faces, saw their eyes open wide in shock, and then heard the rumble. She spun and saw the flames in the center of the City, a pre-Rev building crumbling. Another explosion rocked the City, this time on the northern outskirts, among the low white structures, and then a third, back in the City center.

  She instinctively dropped to the ground. Farryn was beside her, and Penny on the other side, but her parents just stood there, still holding each other, their joy turned to horror.

  The explosions lasted fifteen minutes. They could see and hear lase flashes. They all watched, silently. It had to be Clay, Cass knew. She was taking the fight to other Cities. Is Nick down there fighting? she wondered. Kevin?

  Cass stood up, brushing the dirt off her shirt and pants. “Come on,” she said to her parents, who were still reluctant to move. “It’s not safe here.”

  “We’ll find another City,” whispered her father, his eyes still fixed on the burning City below. “I know there’re more, I just don’t know where. . . .”

  “The Cities aren’t safe for you anymore,” said Cass. She waved her arm angrily at the valley. “Can’t you see that?”

  Her father tore his eyes away from the destruction and stared at Cass blankly. “Then where? Where do we go?”

  “I’ll find a Freepost,” Cass said. “I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Penny said, tugging on her parents. “I trust Cass. Let’s go.”

  Her mother grabbed Penny and crushed her in a tight, brief hug, and her father nodded almost imperceptibly at Cass, looking lost and defeated. “Okay, Cass,” he said. “Find us a Freepost.”

  CHAPTER 35

  NICK WAS GIVEN DOUBLE SHIFTS OF SENTRY DUTIES, LEAVING HIM ONLY a few hours of sleep each night, and he was exhausted. “Get used to it,” Ro told him. “General Clay won’t be letting you get much rest unless your brother and sister and Erica come back. You’re lucky she’s not doing anything worse than just some sleep deprivation.”

  Thankfully they still let him fight—he had proven to be too good a soldier to be sidelined. Over the next two weeks, the rebels invaded two more Cities. Each was a repeat of City 73—the camouflaged rebels snuck in first, taking out bot administration and comm targets, and then the rebels swept in for the cleanup. Rebels died, but not many, and Clay’s forces grew stronger, gaining food and weapons and medicine and recruits.

  It was too easy, Nick thought. It felt wrong. There just weren’t enough bots in the Cities to put up much of a fight. Were the bots stretched too thin? Were the rebel victories so insignificant that the bot leaders hadn’t even been paying attention?

  Nick worried that Clay was leading them into some sort of trap, but most of his concern was reserved for Kevin, and Cass, and his parents.

  He tried, after the second battle, to explain it to Lexi and Doc. Doc was bandaging a small wound on Nick’s leg, where a piece of exploding wall had sliced him. Lexi sat nearby, her knees drawn to her chest, resting her head on her arms, exhausted from the fighting.

  “The only time I’m not thinking about them is when I’m in a City fighting,” he said. “It’s like I’m so focused, I’m free.” He knew that he was explaining himself poorly. He was coming down from the adrenaline buzz of the battle, and he felt shaky and weak.

  Lexi shook her head. “I understand, Nick. Really, I do. But people are dying. Rebels die. People from the Cities die. It’s not forget-about-your-troubles, happy-fun time.”

  Nick threw his hands up in exasperation. “Did I ever call it ‘happy-fun time’? I’m just saying . . . my life is so rusted screwed up and bad right now, and I don’t have to think about it when I’m fighting.”

  “You’re not the only one missing family,” Lexi said. She stood up wearily. “And not everything in your life is screwed up and bad.” She walked away.

  Nick watched her go, feeling, like he often did with her, that he had somehow said something stupid but wasn’t sure what.

  Doc finished wrapping Nick’s leg. He held out his hand, and helped Nick to his feet.

  “I’ve lost family, too,” Doc said. “We all have.”

  Nick felt ashamed. He was such a fool, acting like no one else’s problems were as significant as his.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Doc smiled. “Forgiven,” he said, then grimaced and arched his back, stretching. “I miss my bed,” he said. “It’d almost be worth it, to go back to a City, just to get a decent night’s sleep.” He sighed and shook his head. “I have more injuries to tend to. Get some rest, Nick. And start appreciating that girl, you damned fool.”

  Nick blinked, and watched Doc’s broad back as he walked away. He sat there, letting Doc’s words sink in, and then he stood to go find Lexi.

  He found her near a cookfire, staring into the flames, and he carefully walked up and stood next to her, bracing for her to tell him to leave. She just kept looking at the fire. “I’m an idiot,” he finally said. Lexi turned to him, and her face was almost neutral, but there was a hint of a smile that made Nick’s heart leap and derailed his train of thought momentarily. “I, uh, I just, I say things without thinking and I know you’re going through a lot, too, and I’m really glad you’re here, I mean, not that I’m glad you have to be in this situation but I’m glad you’re here with me. . . .”

  Nick’s cheeks were burning and now Lexi was openly grinning, and she stepped closer to him and put her hand on the back of his neck, and then he heard Grennel yell, “Nick!”

  Lexi dropped her hand and Nick turned and saw Grennel walking toward him, firmly guiding Erica, gripping her upper arm. She looked tired, with dark shadows under her eyes and an old bruise on her cheek, her hair matted with grease and dirt, but she seemed otherwise okay.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” Lexi whispered.

  “Erica?” Nick said, stepping toward her. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

  Erica scowled, and tried to shrug her arm away from Grennel, but of course couldn’t break his grip. “I told you,” she said to Grennel. “I want to see Clay alone.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want,” said Grennel. “I told the General as soon as the sentries told me of your arrival, and she wants to see you and Nick together.”

  Grennel nodded at Nick. “Let’s go,” he said. He pulled firmly, but not roughly, on Erica’s arm and began walking away with her.

  “I’ve got to go,” Nick said to Lexi. She just stared at him silently. He hesitated another moment, then turned and hurried after Grennel.

  They walked through the camp toward Clay’s tent. The rebels whom they passed stared, some recognizing Erica, but th
ey didn’t say anything. And there were many rebels from units other than Ro’s, and the newcomers from the liberated Cities ignored them.

  “What happened?” Nick said to Erica.

  “Quiet,” said Grennel. “Let the General ask the questions.”

  “Get away from me,” Erica whispered. “Please. Now.”

  Nick slowed, and Grennel stopped and turned his massive frame impatiently toward Nick. “Keep moving,” he said.

  Erica gritted her teeth, growling with anger, and pulled hard against Grennel’s grip. He barely even noticed her struggling. She glared at Nick, who kept pace with them, thoroughly confused. Why had she come back? Why was she so desperate to see Clay without him?

  Clay was waiting for them in her tent. Since Nick had last seen her, a few days ago, she had chopped her black hair into a short bob that framed her angular face. She’d be pretty, Nick realized, if she didn’t look so cruel. She was wearing a black T-shirt tucked into green camouflage canvas pants, and at her waist was strapped a pistol and a sheathed hunting knife. Her left hand rested on the pommel of the blade. “It was foolish to run away, and it was even more stupid to come back,” Clay said to Erica.

  “Get him out of here,” Erica said, pointing at Nick. “I have to tell you my intel in private.”

  Clay frowned, absently rubbing her knife pommel. “No, he stays,” Clay said. “I told him he would be responsible for your actions. I want him here for whatever consequences may arise.”

  Erica shot Nick a look that was part anger, part frustration, part something else . . . relief, maybe, he thought. He couldn’t quite read it. Then her face softened, and she seemed to relax. She turned back to Clay. “Fine,” she said.

  “Let’s make this brief,” said Clay. “I’m busy. Where did you go, and why did you come back?”

  “I went to try to help my brother,” Erica said. “I knew that once the bots saw that the intel you had me give them was bad, he’d be in trouble.”

  Clay nodded, her face unreadable. “Go on.”

  “I went to where they’re holding him. There’s a prison in the outskirts of City 1. It’s bots only there, no people in the City except for the prisoners.” Erica hesitated. “I couldn’t get to him.”

  City 1—Nick had heard some talk of it, among the rebels. Bot headquarters. A City built entirely after the revolution, just for the bots. Nobody seemed sure if it actually existed.

  “And why’d you come back?” Clay said.

  “Because I want you to invade City 1, and the prison, and get my brother out.”

  Clay studied Erica quietly, and Erica bore the scrutiny seemingly without effort, staring back at the General. Clay nodded, then picked up a vidscreen and tapped on it a few times, pulling up a map. “Show me where you say City 1 is.”

  Erica studied the map, then pointed to a spot on the eastern edge, near the convergence of two rivers. “Here, roughly,” she said. “To the east, four days’ hike. Just a bit north of where these rivers meet.”

  Clay nodded. “Yes, I have some intel on a bot post at this location.” She flicked off the vid and set it down on her cot. “Interesting, that you say this is City 1. Anything else you want to tell me?” she said.

  “I don’t think there are very many bots there,” Erica said. “Not as many as you’d expect.”

  “How do you know this?” said Clay. She still had her hand resting on her knife handle.

  “I scouted it,” said Erica. “I don’t know for sure, I couldn’t get too close. . . .”

  “You’re a traitor,” interrupted Clay. “Why should I believe a word you say?”

  Erica flushed, but didn’t take the bait. “Look, I’m telling you, they’re weaker than we thought,” she said. “We overestimated them. We can beat them.”

  Clay nodded at Erica, then turned to Grennel. “Take her outside the camp, and kill her. Take Nick with you to watch.”

  “What?” Nick said, not believing what he had heard. “You can’t . . . you can’t just kill her. . . .”

  Erica had gone pale, but didn’t say anything.

  “I can,” said Clay, “and I will. And you will watch, so you’ll understand. And if you cause any problems, Grennel will shoot you, too.”

  “General,” said Grennel. He had grabbed both of Erica’s arms, one in each giant hand, anticipating a struggle. But Erica just stood quietly, not fighting.

  Clay raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “I don’t think this is necessary,” Grennel said. “She may still be useful, and besides—”

  “Enough!” yelled Clay, interrupting him. “Can I not trust even you anymore?” she said. “Just do it!”

  Grennel frowned, and nodded. “Come,” he growled to Nick, and he pushed Erica out of the tent.

  Nick followed Grennel outside, his thoughts racing. Should he tackle Grennel and give Erica a chance to run? Should he wait until they were out of the camp? Could he just let him kill her? He followed Grennel numbly, frozen with indecision. Attacking Grennel would probably be suicide, he knew . . . but he couldn’t just be witness to murder, could he?

  As they reached the edge of the camp, Erica woke up out of her daze and began to thrash in Grennel’s grip. “Let me go! Rust you, let me go!”

  Grennel was much too strong, and he picked her up and carried her into tree cover. He held her tightly, facing away from him, so she was helpless to do much more than bang the back of her head ineffectually against his chest. Nick felt himself unsticking . . . this was it . . . he had to act . . . to hell with the consequences . . .

  Grennel freed his left arm, still holding Erica tight with just his right, and quick as a snake, grabbed Nick’s shirt and pulled him in. Nick’s chin banged against the side of Erica’s skull, and for a moment he saw stars. “Quiet,” Grennel whispered angrily. “I’m not going to kill anyone today.”

  Erica stopped yelling and thrashing. Nick, tears in his eyes from the collision with Erica’s head, tried to collect his thoughts. “But, I don’t understand. . . .”

  “I don’t believe you,” Erica said. “You’re just trying to get me to come quietly.”

  “Believe me,” Grennel said. “Please. Let’s move farther from the camp.” He let go of Nick. “Will you walk?” he said to Erica.

  Hesitantly she nodded.

  Still holding on to her arms, Grennel led them south for a few minutes, then stopped in a small clearing. He let go of Erica’s arm, and unsheathed his hunting knife. Erica tensed, raising her fists.

  “I’m taking out your comm device, and then you can go,” he said. “Get far away, and stay away. If I ever see you again, I will indeed kill you.”

  “You’re going to shoot me in the back,” Erica said. “You’re just playing me.”

  “No, I’m not,” said Grennel.

  “Why?” said Nick.

  Grennel shook his head. “The General . . . she will defeat the bots. And that’s a very good thing. But she can be . . . she doesn’t always understand. . . .” Grennel stopped, clenching his hand into a fist. “Don’t ask me to explain,” he said. “Or I may change my damned mind.”

  Erica nodded, and pulled her pants down to her knees. Her thigh was scarred, and still bruised. Nick winced when Grennel dug the tip of the blade into the scar. Erica clenched her jaw and her face went pale but she didn’t make a sound. Grennel pushed the tip deeper, working the blade under the chip, and Erica gave a small whimper of pain that she quickly stifled. Grennel flicked his wrist and the comm chip popped out onto the dirt. He wiped his blade on his pants, sheathed it, then stepped on the chip, crushing it beneath his heel. “Now go,” he said.

  Erica nodded. There were tears in her eyes. She stepped toward Nick, and opened her mouth to say something, but instead just touched his arm, and gave him a flicker of a smile, then turned and limped quickly into the woods.

  CHAPTER 36

  THE FIRST NIGHT IN THE CELL KEVIN LISTENED TO HIS GRANDFATHER wheeze and groan, and he lay awake worrying that the elderly man was
going to die in his sleep. He had been through too much for a man his age—being shot, held in a cell, tortured by bots. . . .

  But when Kevin woke in the morning—presumably it was morning, the lights were on—he sat up, groggy and headachy, and found that his grandfather was already awake and sitting at their small table, squeezing the contents of a protein paste pack into his mouth.

  “Come eat,” Dr. Winston said. “It’s not good, but you need to keep your strength up.”

  Kevin joylessly ate a paste pack, washing it down with lukewarm water. “I hate these damned things,” he said, dropping the empty pack onto the table.

  “At least they’re feeding us,” Dr. Winston said.

  Kevin’s relief at seeing his grandfather awake and alive had already begun to transform into anger. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t help them break the replication code.”

  “Kevin,” Dr. Winston said steadily, “I am sure the robots have our cell monitored, both video and audio.”

  “I don’t care,” said Kevin. “They already know what I think.”

  Dr. Winston leaned in toward him, his elbows on the table, and said, “Kevin, listen to me carefully. I am going to help them, but it will be all right.”

  “How can it be all right?” Kevin asked, his voice rising.

  “It will,” Dr. Winston said. “I promise you. Please trust me.”

  Kevin leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, and said nothing. Did his grandfather have some plan? Or was he still just a coward?

  Dr. Winston looked at Kevin sadly, then sighed, and began to stand up slowly and painfully from the table. Instinctively Kevin jumped up, and hurried to his grandfather to help him to his feet.

  “Thank you, Kevin,” Dr. Winston said. “Just stiff in the morning. That lase blast in the back wasn’t good for my old bones.”

  The door slipped open with no warning, and a bot stepped in, holding a small vid, which it held out toward Dr. Winston. “The hardware you requested,” it said.