“The Hive will keep the Aztech under our control, but the good Doctor will still be needed to prevent it from finding a way out. He is our insurance policy, and the only thing strong enough to be.”
“So, he stays?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus,” Arbor breathed.
Just then, all twelve stop signs flashed green.
“Tada,” Ray said. “The Aztech is now under our control.”
Standing fifteen feet high on its two legs, head down, reflecting the amber reds and oranges of its surging internal energy off its silver T-O4 skin, was the massive Aztech.
The great machine’s blacked-out eyes slowly glowed orange, and it lifted its head in a slow, mechanical motion until it was staring straight ahead. Straight at them all.
The robot thrummed with power. They all felt it. It permeated the air, the ground, even their nerve endings.
Arbor felt a rush of adrenaline when he saw its face activate. It was a living nightmare he had hoped to never see again. Whether by chance or deliberate design, the machine’s head was crafted into a modern facsimile of an Aztec mask.
Albeit a demonic, high-tech version.
A five-bladed crown sat atop its unmistakable robot cranium. Two sharp, curved blades jutted out of the temple areas, forming what looked like horns. Smaller blades jutted up beside those, with another prominent taller blade in the top center above the forehead. Its large metal arms ended in fingers that could lengthen into sharp energized claws—they seemed more beast than machine. It could fire energy beams out of those as well. Arbor had seen them in action more than he cared to recall. Raptor-like, bladed horns could also jut out from various ports on its sides and legs, and energize at will.
On its shoulders and down its arms were large “celestials,” star-shaped blades that sat at the ready to be deployed as spinning, intelligent drone-like weapons. The celestials contained their own energy weapons that could cut through nearly any material with impunity. Arbor had seen the damage they could cause. Whole armies had fallen to the flying blades alone.
There was something different about this iteration of the Aztech, though. At first Arbor couldn’t put his finger on it.
Then he realized it was the hyper-intensity of the glowing energy inside it. Brighter than in the past. Slowly, it dawned on him: the robot had been charged with orange bioluminescent energy that glowed out of its eye sockets and numerous vents or joints.
That part was new. An innovation Von Cyprus had no doubt championed after gaining possession of the Fire Fly chamber.
As if the Aztech needed to be any more deadly.
In the past, the Aztech had used energy weapons with the firepower of an intercontinental Spore. Powerful laser blasts that were like small bombs.
That was bad enough.
But now, with bioluminescence built into the thing, the Aztech’s power would be on a whole new level of devastating.
It looked like a Transformers version of the devil.
And with the addition of bioluminescence, Arbor knew it had essentially the same power as the devil as well. Fire and brimstone and the end of the world.
Something caught Arbor’s peripheral vision, and he spun back toward Ray. It was a light, and for a moment he thought maybe their use of bioluminescence had attracted the ire of the Fire Fly once again. That’s all they needed!
But no. A new row of stop signs burned into the air above and below the green ones.
“What is that?” Von Cyprus cried. Horror and shock vied for prominence on his face.
“Stop playing around, Ray,” Arbor said. He was in no mood for games from the little shit.
Ray’s eyes went wide too. “Oh no. It’s creating new firewalls!”
Two dozen more. And then another two dozen.
The Aztech took a step forward and raised its arm.
“Rage!” Von Cyprus screamed, and they all began to back away.
All except for the Doctor.
Kiernan Rage was staring at the machine, apparently oblivious to the human drama around him. A dumb grin hung on his face. He began to slowly, methodically applaud.
The son of a bitch was completely cracked, worse than even Arbor had realized.
The Aztech’s shoulders began to shift and swirl in impossible ways. Arbor realized it was the blades slithering out of the metal entrapments. The gleaming disks of steel spun out from the robot’s arms and shoulders. Spinning blades with small red lights rotating at the center. The celestials flew out at the group, buzzing with speed and power.
Rage calmly aimed his arms at them. The blades veered off course, zinging past the trio, close enough they could feel the wind from the razor-sharp blades. Their deadly buzz trailing off behind the group.
The teams of Guards around them were not so lucky.
The celestials sliced through them like they were not even there. Blood splattered as their screams filled the air. Arbor raised his arms to try to block the arterial spray, but it still spritzed his visor.
“Rage!” Von Cyprus shouted again. “Stop them!”
Rage just let out a low chuckle. He watched the blades with complete indifference. He seemed fixated on the technology. “The slave is good,” he said to no one in particular. Arbor could barely even hear him.
Von Cyprus was panicked. He slid up his coat sleeves and raised his arms toward the machine.
First smart thing he’s done today, Arbor thought.
“Rage, goddamn it! Do something! Do it or I’ll zap you again!” the scientist screamed.
Rage turned to them, oblivious to the blades that were now arcing back for another run, headed right for all their necks. “And then do what? Let the Aztech run wild? Do you really believe your weapons can defeat it?”
Arbor was furious. This was just what he’d been warning them about. He glared at Von Cyprus.
Who was speechless now. His eyes darted back and forth between Rage and the deadly blades spinning toward them. This was a contingency he had clearly not prepared for. He was not ready to fire his electrosleeves on the machine and risk destroying it, but he obviously had no idea what else to do.
Ten feet now.
Five feet.
“Rage!” Arbor screamed.
One foot.
As casually as if he were shooing a fly, Rage raised his hand, flipping it toward the blades…
Which arced just enough and skimmed above them. Inches from their scalps.
Arbor swallowed and stalked forward. He grabbed Von Cyprus by the throat and pulled the stunned scientist close to him, jamming his wrist-turret flamethrower into Von Cyprus’s temple. Arbor glared at Rage. “Stop it now, Rage, or I will make dipshit here fry your brain. I don’t care about that machine! I’ll kill both of you assholes!”
Rage’s eyes fell on him, and as calmly as one might switch off a television, Rage pointed behind himself toward the blades and deactivated them, his eyes still staring at Arbor. The buzzing of the celestials began to quiet, their speed slowing, losing power. But they were still headed right for them. All the Doctor had done was shut them off; he hadn’t changed their course. It took a moment for them all to notice.
“Jesus!” Arbor yelled and turned to run.
“Doctor!” Von Cyprus shouted and bolted after Arbor.
Rage turned. Calmly, slowly.
The blades were upon the Doctor now, and as Arbor peered back he thought for a moment that Rage had decided to commit suicide and leave them to the Aztech. He’d been in prison a long time. For some men, captivity broke them. He’d seen it.
As the deadly celestials closed on him, the Doctor simply took one step. And slid out of the flight path of the two blades that now...
Were headed right at Arbor and Von Cyprus.
Who screamed and ran harder, legs pumping.
The blades hit home...
Slicing into the ground, running out of momentum inches from their heels. Rock, dirt, and sand pummeled their backs.
“Jesus, that was cl
ose!” Arbor said.
Arbor glanced up, and a slow smile broke across his lips.
He couldn’t help it.
In the mêlée, Arbor realized, Rage had managed to turn green all of the stop signs the Aztech had created. Rage had gained control of the machine while it had been focused on trying to kill them all.
He had outsmarted it.
For the first time the robot spoke. The voice was deep, ominous, and slightly digitized. Its red glowing eyes focused on Rage. “I will adjust, human. Next time you will not be so successful.”
Rage grinned and turned toward them. “This slave that will serve me in the righteous cause is yours. For now.” The Doctor strode forward, a strange twinkle in his eyes, his arms out in an offering. “This meat”—he swung his arms at the bloody corpses of the Guardsmen scattered on the ground behind him—“they are a testament to the new day that is coming. Their lives were not given in vain. They have been cleansed of their sins and returned to the soil from whence they came. They will blossom anew as the energy that gives True Life form. The universe exploded into being from the gift of the Great Mind, the Meta-Consciousness. Transported to this world as a single seed, ready to grow, to bloom, into its latest incarnation as the Man who stands above all. I am—”
Von Cyprus zapped him.
CHAPTER 20
WASHINGTON, D.C.
NUMBER ONE OBSERVATORY CIRCLE
Two nights later, Elizabeth Lee sat in front of the cameras in the library of the vice president’s residency. She was in a red suit dress with a row of books on democracy just out of focus on a bookshelf behind her. That was her own little touch.
Beaming her message out to the country in primetime, she praised COR for producing the Orbs that were now providing free energy to parts of Boston and Philadelphia. She assured citizens that the Council was now starting their own program to develop them all across the country. She added it was her fervent hope that the Council and COR could begin to work together on this project. The Council, she assured them, would seek answers to make their lives better, no matter where they were to be found—even in the heart of their enemy.
“If we can work together on this, why can’t we work together on solving our differences?” she said about the Resistance. “The people want a stable, responsive government that secures for them their liberty, freedom, and prosperity. I dare say this is what COR has called for, too.”
The statement went farther than what President Mitchell had suggested, she knew. But she also knew he would be expecting as much. “Give it your own flare, Liz,” he’d told her.
She had.
NORRISTOWN
RECOVERY WING
The Revolution peered into the big android’s eyes and tried to read his face. Did the machine have emotions or not? At times Revolution swore they were there. At others, he seemed a lot like a toaster. “Spectral, you don’t have to keep doing this.”
“Okay,” Revolution sighed. “I suppose an android doesn’t mind rejection.” Revolution scanned his face, searching for any response.
Spectral turned his crimson and green head toward the door of the recovery room. Revolution wondered just what was going though the android’s mind. Spectral made for the door handle, but Revolution stopped him.
One more try.
“Spectral, what do you remember of James Scott and Joseph Kee?”
The android turned to face Revolution. His eyes glowed white.
“No,” Revolution chuckled, “I didn’t mean tell me everything you know about them, just… Do you recall your time with either of them very well?”
Spectral cocooned his two-toned cape around him as the sound echoed down the long, empty hallway.
“It’s no problem.” Revolution grinned inside his helmet. The android felt stress. Interesting.
Revolution tried to push further. “You don’t remember what kind of man Joseph Kee was? What his qualities or strengths were like? Maybe his weaknesses?”
“Well, the history you recounted is mostly correct, in as far as it goes. What it leaves out is that Scott was the reason they shelved your project. He couldn’t make his bioluminescence work—the whole reason Kee had brought him on in the first place. It just wasn’t ready back then. When the Pentagon realized they weren’t going to have their invulnerable machine, they scrapped the project and demanded a more offensively oriented weapon. In other words…”
“Yes. But Kee wouldn’t have it. He wasn’t a warrior. He never intended to create a weapon. He always saw you as a shield. When DARPA demanded he change his plans, he walked out. He wasn’t fired, he quit. This left Scott in charge and free to pursue his own design: the Aztech.”
“Scott told me himself. Before he died. What you’re doing right now comes straight from Joe Kee. You should really investigate this, Spectral. You might discover that you were meant for more than just being a bodyguard.” Could an android sense when he was being manipulated? Revolution hoped not.
Spectral was motionless for a long moment. Revolution considered asking him if everything was alright. Finally, he turned back toward the door in a very formal, jerky motion.
Spectral opened the door, and Revolution strolled in, followed by the big android. Alone in the large recovery room was a male in his late twenties. Both legs wrapped in casts and suspended from a metal frame that hung above his hospital bed.
“Hello, Dan,” Revolution said. “I’ve brought a visitor this time.”
“Hey, Rev!” the man said, his comfort level with the Resistance leader a product of his many visits. But then his eyes focused on Spectral, and his face immediately reddened. Oh boy, Revolution thought. Here we go again…
NORRISTOWN
SURGERY WING
One wing over, Paul Ward was injecting an army of microscopic robots into Ben Drayger’s exposed ass. “You know you have one fine booty…for a gimp,” Ward said as seriously as he possibly could. The truth was he did have a nice ass. Lean but muscular. That pretty much summed up Drayger’s physique. Ward reminded himself the kid was only twenty-six. It was easy at twenty-six.
Drayger snorted. “Thanks, a-hole. You really know how to make a guy feel better about his inadequacies.”
“Don’t like my bedside manner, huh? I said you had a nice ass.”
Drayger snorted again. “Speaking of ass, what’s the deal with you and Boobarella?”
Ward felt himself stiffen up, heat flushing his cheeks. “You mean Rachel?”
“Of course I mean Rachel. You doing her, or what?”
Ward swallowed and tried to repress the anger from bubbling up. This was just “guy talk.” Locker room pissing contest. “We’re just friends.”
“You two sure do spend a lot of time together. You’re telling me you’ve never interfaced that hard drive, pal?”
Ward had to chuckle. �
�No. It’s...complicated. I’ve not had the best luck with—”
Drayger suddenly blushed. His personality spun on a dime from confident jock to embarrassed teenager. Ward knew Drayger had heard the stories about his late wife and the death of Alison. Ward’s love life read like a war-time casualty list. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring up... You know, I’m out of line. I was just kidding around.”
“No, it’s okay,” Ward said, actually feeling relieved. He grinned like a fox at the henhouse. “I’m not saying I haven’t been tempted,” he snickered.
“Man, you really are a hero then! You’re a better man than me, Paul Ward.”
“Hardly.”
“Trust me, you are.” Drayger beamed an impish grin back at him.
Ward took a serious tone, tapped Drayger’s robotic leg. “No, really, that was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.”
Drayger scoffed. “What, me getting my leg blown off? Yeah, that was, like, my finest moment.”
“I’m serious,” Ward chuckled. “You went out there guns blazing without any armor or protection of any kind. And then we try to get you to leave and you won’t. Gimpy leg and all. You’re some kind of hero, Ben. I mean it.”
“Too bad the boss doesn’t see it that way.”
“What do you mean? Revolution thinks you’re a hero.”
“I dunno. I just feel like if I don’t get this leg working right, he’s gonna have me on some desk job. Like Lantern, you know?”
Ward smacked Drayger’s metal leg. “Hey, trust me. Half of this is a positive mental outlook and the other is grit and determination. You got both, kid.”
“Is that Dr. Ward talking or Spider Wasp?”
“Ah, Dr. Ward’s a pompous a-hole, remember? The truth is, we don’t really know why some robotic appendages work and others don’t. Part of it is how soon it gets attached post trauma, which is why elective surgery is always best for the replacements. But that’s not all of it. You’ve got a great chance of this thing working better than new.”
“Well, I thought that’s what these little creepy things”—Drayger strained his head around, squinting, trying in vain to view what Ward was doing to his backside—“were supposed to help with.”
The Suns of Liberty (Book 3): Republic Page 14