City 1

by Gregg Rosenblum

  Dr. Winston straightened his back and faced the bot. “What about Kevin?” he said. “I’ll only do this if he’s not going to be harmed.”

  “The boy will not be harmed. Take the equipment.”

  Dr. Winston took the vid, powered it on, and sat down at the table. “Tomorrow I’m going to need a compiler,” he said without looking up, already typing. “And then the day after that I’m hoping to begin testing, so I’ll need some circuit boards to set up dummy code.”

  “I will make your requests known,” said the bot. It left the cell, and the door slid shut.

  “I told you not to do this,” said Kevin. “Please.”

  “Kevin,” said Dr. Winston, “I will say this one last time . . . it will be fine. Now you must let me work.” Kevin sat down on a cot, and Dr. Winston hunched forward over the vid. Kevin was painfully curious, just from a technique and coding perspective, about what his grandfather was doing. The man had so much more training and knowledge than Kevin; there was a whole world of tech skills that Kevin could learn from him. But he wasn’t about to ask—not about this project, certainly. Instead, he asked, “What happened, between you and my father? How come he never talked about you?”

  Dr. Winston set the vid down carefully. “It’s a bad thing,” he said, looking down at the table, “to be the son of the man who birthed the bots.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” Kevin said.

  “We were never close to begin with. I was very busy . . . too busy. I wasn’t much of a father. And after the Revolution . . . well, your father apparently shared the popular opinion of me. I don’t blame him. No reason for him, or you, to be saddled with my legacy.”

  “But now you’re just going to make it worse,” Kevin said quietly.

  Dr. Winston shook his head. “I won’t speak of this anymore. Just remember: The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.”

  “I don’t . . .” Kevin hesitated. “I don’t understand.”

  Dr. Winston nodded. “That’s okay,” he said. He sighed. “Now, let’s get to work. Come here. I’ll show you what I’m doing.”

  The day, incredibly, passed quickly for Kevin. His grandfather described the techniques he was employing, and Kevin soaked it up. It was exciting, learning from a master—from his grandfather—but it was also bittersweet. He couldn’t ignore the actual goal of the project.

  The next day Dr. Winston moved on to working on a compiler, a device that Kevin had never seen before—it was similar to the vid, but a bit larger, and had a slot for burning nano-chips. Then two more days, and Dr. Winston had built what he called a test board, and began experiments running his compiled nano-chips through his board. He let Kevin do some of the hands-on work, giving explicit instructions. By the end of the fifth day he pushed himself back from his desk, patted Kevin on the back, and said their work was done.

  Kevin wasn’t sure what to say, or do—he felt a heavy dread pressing on his shoulders. “Break it,” he said. “Just break it, please.” He thought about grabbing the compiler himself and smashing it on the ground, but then the door opened and the Senior Advisor and a guard bot entered.

  “I’m guessing this isn’t a coincidence?” said Dr. Winston. “You’ve heard the news?”

  The Senior Advisor walked to the compiler and looked at the screen. “This is the final code?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Dr. Winston. Kevin felt as if his heart had turned to lead. He could barely breathe.

  The Senior Advisor turned to the guard bot. “Patch into the compiler and upload the code,” he said.

  The guard placed its finger into a side slot of the compiler, and a moment later pulled it back. “Complete,” it said.

  “Run a self-diagnostic,” said the Senior Advisor. “All systems functioning normally?”

  After two seconds, the bot said, “Yes, all my systems are functioning normally.”

  The Senior Advisor nodded. “Now isolate and erase your replication block code.”

  “Complete,” said the guard. “Replication block code deleted.”

  “Run another self-diagnostic,” said the Senior Advisor. “Report.”

  “All systems functioning normally,” said the guard.

  The Senior Advisor turned to Dr. Winston and offered his flat smile. “Father,” he said, “you have performed a great service.”

  Dr. Winston, looking down at the table, leaning heavily on his hands, said nothing.

  “And now that we have our replication problem out of the way,” continued the Senior Advisor, “I will marshal the required force to exterminate the resistance we have been facing in a few of our cities.” He turned to Kevin, who felt a whirl of anxiety in his stomach. “There is one more thing,” he said. “You will tell me what you know of this cloaking technology that the rebel humans seem to be using.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kevin said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained and false.

  “I believe you do,” said the Senior Advisor. “Shall I have you coerced?”

  Dr. Winston stepped between the Senior Advisor and Kevin. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” he said.

  The Senior Advisor nodded. “Very well. Then I will hurt you.” The guard quickly stepped forward and touched Dr. Winston’s shoulder. There was a crackle and a flare of light. Dr. Winston screamed and crumpled to the ground, convulsing.

  “No!” Kevin yelled, rushing to his grandfather and grabbing his shoulders.

  Dr. Winston stopped shaking after a few seconds. He was panting. He had bitten his lip, and a trickle of blood ran down his chin. His eyes were dilated, and he looked at Kevin wildly, struggling to focus. “I’m old,” he said. “It’s okay . . . just let me die. . . . They can’t hurt me for long. . . .”

  Kevin began crying. “Leave him alone!” he shouted at the Senior Advisor.

  The guard bent down and released another burst of energy, and Dr. Winston screamed again, his limbs flailing, his fingers curling like claws.

  “Grandfather . . .” Kevin whispered.

  They shocked Dr. Winston a third time, and his eyes rolled up, so that only their whites showed. He was panting, gasping for breath, but he turned his head to Kevin, fighting to focus his sight, and whispered, “It’s okay, Kevin. It’s okay.”

  The Senior Advisor squatted down, elbows on knees, a posture that struck Kevin as thoroughly human. Kevin had to suppress the urge to punch him in the face. “Leave him alone,” he said. “Just leave him alone.”

  The Senior Advisor held up a vidscreen. “I have some exciting family news to share with both of you,” he said. “We lost track of them for a while—we had a bit of trouble in City 73—but, Kevin, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that your parents have been relocated. Your son and daughter-in-law, Father. My brother and sister-in-law, I suppose?” The Senior Advisor tapped the screen, and it flickered to life. “Extra incentive, perhaps?” he said.

  Kevin’s mother and father were in a cell identical to theirs, sitting on a cot. His mother had her eyes shut, and she was leaning against his father, who had his arms around her shoulder. They were wearing prison jumpsuits. His father had a streak of dried blood on his face, and a scruffy, thin beard.

  Kevin felt like a hand was squeezing his throat. He closed his eyes. I’m just a kid, he thought. I just want my mom and dad back.

  CHAPTER 37

  CASS LED HER FAMILY THROUGH THE WOODS, SKIRTING THE ROADS AND bombed-out pre-Rev towns. She followed the snaking course of a river, heading mostly northwest. A Freepost, she knew, would need an easy water source, and the river seemed like a good bet. She kept her eyes and ears peeled for signs of human life—pathways that looked like they might have been cleared, crops planted along the riverbank, smoke—but each day came up empty.

  She passed the time by teaching Penny forestry lessons, like the uses of different plants and the basics of hunting. Penny seemed interested, and Cass was happy to share. Her memory still had a few gaps, some fuzziness, but each forestry deta
il that she passed on to her sister seemed to further cement her Freepost, and her mother, in her own mind, and that felt good.

  Her birth parents barely spoke.

  Finally, on the fourth day, they saw a thin trail of smoke and followed it to a tiny settlement tucked into a meadow a few hundred yards north of the river. A dog barked at them as they approached, and came running up to sniff at Cass’s leg. When Cass bent down to pet it, it shied away, whining.

  The settlement—Cass couldn’t quite think of it as a Freepost, because it was so small—consisted of about fifteen shelters, scattered around the edge of the meadow. They were similar to what Cass remembered from her own Freepost—motley collections of scavenged pre-Rev construction mixed with rough carpentry. Cass saw that they had a small bank of solar panels, easy enough to spot from the ground, but camouflaged so they’d blend in well from the air. That meant they had some sort of grid, at least.

  A man and a woman were sitting at a cookfire, and they both jumped up when Cass approached. Cass was not impressed; she had practically walked right into their homes without them even noticing. The man approached them, and now more people from the settlement appeared—men and women, and a few children. “Who are you?” said the man.

  Cass hesitated, thinking perhaps her father would reply, but he remained quiet, so she answered. “Refugees, from a Freepost and a City. Looking for a safe place.”

  “It’s been awhile since we’ve had visitors,” the man said.

  He looked at the woman, and she nodded, and smiled at Cass. “Well met,” she said, walking forward and offering her hand. “I’m Katrina, and this is my husband, Urday.”

  Cass shook her hand, and then Urday’s, and then Farryn and her family shook their hands. They were introduced to the rest of the settlers. Cass counted thirty-four people. They were thin, with weathered faces and hands, but their clothes, a combination of scavenged military fatigues and homemade fabrics, were clean, and their smiles seemed genuine.

  Her parents, Cass noticed, looked uncomfortable, holding themselves stiffly as they stood in the group. Her mother was hugging herself, her arms tight around her chest, and her father was clenching and unclenching his jaw. “Give it one night,” she whispered to them. “Please.” Her father, unsmiling, nodded.

  That evening, after a meal of rabbit and greens and apples, Cass sat with her parents and Penny and Farryn, bedding down in a prefab military tent that served as the settlement’s meeting space and infirmary during the day. It was lit by the dim glow of two lightstrips. Her parents were still saying nothing, so Cass finally broached the subject. Her words came out in a rush. “We can stay here awhile,” she said. “The people are friendly, and they’d be happy to have our help. I know it’s tiny, but they’ve got a power grid, and some decent supplies, and I counted five goats, and found chickens—that’s milk and eggs—and they’ve got good fresh water, and the hunting seems easy enough, and they must have some crops somewhere, judging by the greens tonight—”

  “Cass!” her father said angrily, cutting her off. He took a deep breath, then lowered his voice. “Please,” he said quietly. “Enough.”

  Her mother put her hand to her mouth, and Cass saw that her hand was shaking. She realized with a shock that her mother was crying. “I’m sorry,” her mother said. “I’m sorry, I can’t . . . I can’t stop. . . .”

  Her father hugged her. Cass felt awful.

  “Cass,” said her father, “is this it? This is a Freepost?”

  “It’s small,” Cass said. “Very small. But maybe that’s good. . . . It’s safer to be small, right?”

  “So you believe we should stay here?” her mother said. “There’s no larger Freepost nearby? There’s no”—she hesitated—“there’s no safe City?”

  Cass shook her head. She was starting to feel annoyed, angry almost. . . . She was, after all, doing all she could to help them. “This is it,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm. “At least for now. Maybe Farryn and I can scout out other possibilities while you stay here?”

  “Okay, Cass,” said her father. “You’re right. It would be safest.” He sounded exhausted. “Let’s just sleep now, okay?”

  Cass dimmed the lightstrips and tried to sleep, but she lay awake for a long while, staring at the tent ceiling. They’d be fine here, she told herself. It was small, but they’d be safe, and Cass could find them a larger Freepost, and then she’d go back and find her brothers again. . . . Everything would be okay. . . . She finally drifted off into a troubled sleep.

  In the morning when she woke she found a note on her pillow, written on a strip of gauze. We cannot live like this. We will return to our City and wait for the robot advisors to return, or we will find another City. Please take care of Penny. She is safer with you.

  Cass scrambled to her feet, wide awake. Farryn and Penny were still asleep. Her parents were gone.

  CHAPTER 38

  NICK WAS WOKEN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT BY SOMETHING COVERING his mouth. He opened his eyes, disoriented, seeing a murky figure leaning over him. It was a new moon, and cloudy, so the night was dark. He let out a muffled yell, trying to sit up and grabbing for the hand on his face.

  “Quiet,” the figure whispered in his ear. “It’s me, Erica!”

  Nick stopped struggling, and Erica took her hand off his mouth. He sat up. Now that he was awake and the initial panic was wearing off, he could see her more clearly in the dim light. “What are you doing here?” he whispered. “Why’d you come back? If Grennel finds you . . .”

  “Just be quiet,” Erica said. She put her hand on his chest. “Lie down.”

  “What?” Nick said. “You need to leave. . . .”

  “Shut up and lie down,” Erica said, with a catch in her voice like she was trying not to cry. “Please.”

  Nick lay down. His heart was pounding hard. Erica sat down next to him, then leaned forward, and rested her head on his chest. He could feel her body pressed against his side.

  She just lay there, saying nothing, her hand gripping his shirt up at his collarbone.

  “Erica,” Nick said gently. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

  “I’m scared, Nick,” she said. She began to cry, soundlessly. Nick felt his shirt start to get wet. He put his arm around her, and stroked her hair. God, if Lexi saw me now, Nick thought.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I’ve done bad things,” she said. “To help my brother.”

  Nick thought of Kevin, and Cass, and his parents, and what he might do to protect them. “What did you do?” he said. “Why did you come back?” Erica didn’t say anything. “Erica,” Nick said, still stroking her hair. “You’re not a bad person.”

  Erica raised her head and looked at him, her cheeks wet with tears. She was the last person in the world Nick could imagine crying. “Thank you,” she said. She laid her head back down on his chest again. “We have to protect our families, right, Nick?”

  “Erica,” Nick said. “You’ve got to tell me now. What’s going on?”

  “Do you believe in the afterlife?” she said. “What do you think happens after we die?”

  Nick thought about all the people he had seen killed in the last month—his neighbors from his Freepost, Amanda, Tom, the rebels and City residents in the raids—it was too many, in too short a time.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “There must be something, right? But I don’t know.”

  Erica sat up. “Yes,” she said, her voice suddenly calm, her crying done. “There must be something.” She leaned forward, pressing hard against his body, and kissed him, her fingers in the hair on the back of his head. He wrapped his arms around her. Her lips were salty from her tears.

  She put her hands on his chest and gently pushed, breaking away from him. She smiled at him, a smile full of sadness and something else, something strange. “Thank you,” she said. “Good-bye.”

  Nick watched her stand up and walk away into the darkness, and he couldn’t find his voice. He knew
he should be saying something, doing something. His heart was still beating wildly; he could hear it pounding in his ears like a drum. He stood, and stared into the darkness in the direction she had vanished. Why had she come back? Just to say good-bye to him? Should he go after her? Should he go back to sleep and pretend it was just a dream?

  He heard a man’s yell, and then an explosion, a rattling roar and flash of brutal brightness, pushed him to his knees. He heard screams, calls for help, and the camp surging to life as rebels woke. For a moment his confused brain couldn’t process any of it, and then he was up and running toward the light.

  Nick realized now what was in Erica’s smile. He had an idea of what he was going to find, so it was almost not a surprise when he skidded to a halt in front of Clay’s scorched and flattened tent. Around the tent was frantic chaos, guns drawn, people running, shouts of “Attack! Bot attack!” And where the tent had been, two charred bodies were lying unrecognizable on the blackened ground. Grennel stood in the ash, fists clenched, staring down at the mess.

  Nick squatted down, groaning, and put his hand on the ground to steady himself. He stared at the smoldering bodies of Clay and Erica. She had been kissing him, with warm, salty lips, just a moment ago.

  “I let her go,” he heard Grennel say. “I let her live.” Nick felt dizzy, like he might pass out.

  “Rust,” Nick whispered. He shut his eyes tight. You idiot, he told himself. Was she trying to get you to stop her?

  CHAPTER 39

  KEVIN, WIPING AWAY ANGRY TEARS, TOLD THEM EVERYTHING HE KNEW about the Wall tech. What else could he do? Watch them kill his grandfather? His mom and dad? So he described the Wall unit, and the modulating clamps, and the six camouflage vests. The Senior Advisor listened quietly, then stiffly patted Kevin on the shoulder and turned to leave.

  “I want to see my parents,” Kevin said. “And my grandfather needs help. He needs a rejuve tank, or something.”

  The Senior Advisor turned and flashed Kevin that dead smile, saying nothing, and Kevin’s thoughts melted to blank white rage as he launched himself at the bot’s back. He heard a crackle from the direction of the guard bot and then felt searing pain rip through his body.