by Corey Ostman
Grace rushed over to Crusp.
“What just happened?” Grace asked. She hoisted Crusp to his feet, like a large sack of rice.
Euler and Tim exchanged a look.
“Those pawns have been reprogrammed,” said Tim.
“They have,” agreed Euler. Her voice was calm, but her face betrayed her distress.
“Where’d they go?” asked Raj. He still had his helmet on.
“The masonry from the local regolith is not so dense as to bar their passing,” Euler said. “Where they are going is uncertain. It depends on their next assignment.”
Crusp laughed. It was no longer panic, though it still had the tinge of shock.
“Quint did this,” he said. “He told me he could reprogram anything from the Essex. Anything. Learned it from his ‘paustee friend.”
Grace felt her gut clench when she heard Crusp’s Martian mangling of aposti. How could they be on Mars? The aposti were more technophobic than cloisterfolk. It didn’t make sense they would leave Earth. Space travel was too tech-heavy.
Grace regarded Crusp. “Quint had an aposti friend? On Mars?”
“Albor Dome,” said Crusp. “Helped Quint pay for his gene therapy.”
“What do they want,” Grace said, gritting her teeth in anger.
Crusp began to answer, then looked to the back of the chamber. Grace tracked his gaze. Mazz? To her horror, she watched as Mazz’s knees buckled. Its torso pivoted and crashed face-forward on the floor.
“Mazz!” Richard yelled, running over and kneeling beside the inert mass. “Anna—help me turn him over.”
Grace looked at Euler. The twofer captain stared at Richard, compassion welling on her face.
“What have you done to Mazz?” Richard yelled, a sob in his voice.
Crusp sniggered.
Tim trotted up to Mazz. He nosed the unconscious twofer.
“Oh. I see.” Tim’s voice echoed in the chamber. “You’ve stopped the upgrade. That’s why the banging on my filters ceased.” Tim cocked his head as he looked at Euler. “Why?”
“We didn’t stop the upgrade on purpose, The Tim,” said Euler. “There is no longer enough energy to continue the upgrade transmission. I felt what I thought was a momentary ebb in the energy flow, but the tide never returned. It kept retreating.”
“You were upgrading already?” said Raj.
“I told you it would be complete in thirty minutes,” Euler said.
“Mazz didn’t need an upgrade!” said Richard, angrily. “He was perfect already.”
Euler did not answer Richard. She motioned to the audience. A large group of robots walked toward the doors.
“We will break out of this structure,” Euler said.
Grace watched as the squad of twofers strained against the door. They attempted to slide it back into its wall pocket. That failed. She heard the rasp of their hands as they slid across the surface of the door, now covered with dimples and scratches from their effort.
The twofer squad began pounding on the door. It was not a panicked move, but an orderly one. Their fists pumped against the door like alternating jack-hammers. A dull throb pulsed the room. White masonry chips fell to the floor.
“An unusual sound,” Euler said, frowning.
Grace looked at Euler. “The pounding?”
“Ultrasonic.”
Grace heard a crack and then a sharp hiss. After a few seconds the hiss diminished. She felt pressure in her ears and could no longer detect the auditory intricacies of the large chamber. All the high frequencies were gone.
She doubled over as searing pain hit her lungs and eyes. Clutching her chest, she looked up as the door shattered and its remains exploded outward. Four of the twofer squad went out with the doors, while a fifth citizen back-flipped and flew off his feet. His head was driven into the top of the door frame, shattering bloodlessly.
Grace tried to fight the pain, but she couldn’t see clearly. Not again, she thought, not again. Her bruises had just finished healing. The vortex began to draw her towards the gape of the doorframe and she hooked her leg to one of the bolted-down seats.
She knew she would black out in ten if she couldn’t negotiate the helmet. Do not panic. Her hands fumbled at her side. She could feel the helmet. Grace undid the snap.
A citizen flew by, his face unsurprised.
Chapter 38
Raj felt the wind whip his pressure suit. His visor winked red as the room drained of its atmosphere. He turned to his right, hoping a change in the aspect ratio of his body would reduce the drag, but moving made things worse—his left leg kicked forward and he was off his feet. As his view shifted, Raj watched in horror as Grace fell backwards, her right side striking the dais. She didn’t even reach out to stop herself as her body slid forward, rotated, and dropped off the stage.
He twirled off the stage, too, and into the seats, his right knee screaming upon impact. Raj wrapped both his arms around a seat, anchoring himself. He could see Grace, but he couldn’t get to her.
Debris filled the air, all of it heading toward the maw of the shattered doors. Raj shrank back as an airborne twofer narrowly missed his head. There were several in the air, each easily two hundred kilograms. Other twofers slid toward the exit, or joined an increasing pile actively bracing themselves, trying to form a chain to a control panel.
Raj glanced at his helmet display. The air outside was exceedingly thin, but seemed to be stabilizing well above standard Martian atmosphere. He realized Essex City must have failsafes, but such precautions would only extend human survival a few minutes.
Raj looked for Anna. She’d been beside Planar. But Planar was now across the room, untangling himself from a pile of robotic citizens. Raj swallowed and willed himself to patience, knowing that Anna had, at least, put her helmet on for the pawns before the breach happened.
“Planar!” Raj yelled into his helmet.
Raj saw Planar snap his head toward him.
“Grace! Her helmet! Get her helmet on!” Raj shouted.
Planar immediately clambered over to Grace, dodging debris. She lay unconscious on her side, one leg entwined with a seat. Planar grabbed Grace’s helmet from her belt and pulled it down over her head, twisting until the collar ring fastened.
Raj saw Planar’s lips move and less than a second later, the audio erupted in his helmet.
“Assist the humans,” Planar said.
Immediately, citizens who had not been swept out of the hall turned their attentions to the crew of the Scout.
Raj twisted to see where the other members of the crew were. His knee screamed pain, bringing tears to his eyes. There was Tim, standing against the wind, his mimic skin bright yellow. Near him, Richard clung to Mazz.
Anna?
Raj stood and instantly collapsed. His knee wouldn’t take his weight, and he couldn’t hobble in this wind. Instead, he grabbed at chairs and went hand over hand toward Planar, who was securing Grace with her belt strap.
“Have you seen Anna?” Raj asked.
“She grabbed onto one of the seats to the left of Richard and Mazz.”
“Where? Oh, good.”
He knelt on his working knee and looked into Grace’s visor. The initial flush of condensation was evaporating and the rhythmic twitches from her nostrils showed normal breathing.
“Thank you, Planar,” Raj said.
Planar stared at Grace. “Will she be ok, Doctor?”
“Yes, but she—”
Raj startled into silence as a hand clamped hard upon his bicep and his comm clicked.
“Crusp.”
It was Grace. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot.
Crusp? Crusp! Where was he? The man hadn’t been wearing a suit. But he had known this was coming, hadn’t he? Had Crusp escaped?
Raj looked toward the rear of the chamber. The wind of escaping atmosphere had subsided and citizens had begun standing and proceeding slowly to the shattered exit. He saw Anna stand from behind a seat and move closer to Richard. Raj t
urned back to the stage. He saw Euler beside it, leaning against the platform. At the base of the stairs was Crusp, face down on the floor.
“Planar, will you be damaged if you remove your suit?” Raj asked.
“Not in the short-term, Doctor Chanho. Over time, the coefficient of friction in my joints will increase. That’s why I wear a suit.”
“Crusp,” Raj said, pointing. “He needs one now.”
He was surprised and pleased that Planar was not as cold-blooded as Euler. There was no negotiation. Planar grabbed him around the waist and carried him to Crusp.
Raj settled against the stage, balancing on one leg. “Ok, Planar, get out of your suit. Help me put Crusp into it.”
Planar handed Raj his helmet and began taking off the suit. They threaded the unresponsive body inside.
“Robert Crusp is dead,” Euler said. “Major brain damage would have occurred three minutes ago.”
Raj didn’t stop long enough to respond. He fitted the collar back onto the suit and clamped the helmet over Crusp’s head.
His mechflesh arm monitored vital signs. Crusp’s heart had stopped as well as his breathing, but he wasn’t entirely gone. Raj turned Crusp onto his left side to clear his airway and to check the suit’s pressurization.
A rip.
Raj leaned over the suit, probing with his fingers. A fifty centimeter gash ran along the back. Planar must have scraped against something during the depressurization of the dome. He never would have registered the loss of air.
“Pawns. Pawns could fix this tear,” Raj said. His arm bleeped quietly. Crusp was slipping away.
“I am sorry Doctor Chanho. We have lost all control of the pawns,” Planar said.
Raj sighed. This was an old suit. Generations old. A tear that large couldn’t be mended mechanically. The bacterial colonies that produced oxygen, scrubbed the air, and metabolized body heat wouldn’t accept foreign material. Pawns might have coaxed the colonies back together. Might have. But it would have taken too long to program anyway.
Raj smoothed out the back of the suit and laid Crusp down on the floor. As he did so, Crusp died.
To push the death to the back of his mind, he turned his attention to Grace. Raj blinked through his helmet display and accessed her pressure suit, initiating hyperbaric oxygen therapy. It would treat any decompression sickness. He couldn’t save Crusp, but he’d make certain Grace woke in near-perfect health.
• • •
Grace kept hearing the word, well. Well, well, well. She remembered the old artesian well on her ranch. She was thirsty and hungry, angry and woozy. She didn’t know why she lay on her back. She remembered a loud crack and recalled the brief roar of escaping atmosphere. Now it was quiet, though her head pounded in sync with throbbing eyes. She reached her arm out to rub her head and realized she was wearing a helmet. When did I? Oh…
“Protector Donner, Euler wants to know. Are you well?”
Ouch! Planar’s voice cut into her helmet. He was leaning over her. His suit was gone. On one side, Grace saw Anna and Richard. They looked well. Scared, certainly. But well. She turned her head and saw Raj. Grace offered a smile which melted Raj’s concern into a grin. She looked at her helmet display and opened a channel to Tim.
“Tim? Are you ok, buddy? Where are you?”
The PodPooch’s reply was instantaneous. His head popped up at her side and he licked her helmet with his long blue tongue.
“Good to have you back, Grace,” he said.
A shape stirred behind Tim. Euler. Beyond her, the robots were moving rapidly in different directions. Some were repairing themselves. Some were helping others to their feet. Many streamed out through the exit. The hive was busy. It had just been through a fall preceded by pride. She wondered if Euler would drop the fearless leader routine or lay it on thicker than before.
“Who’s holding onto Crusp?” she asked Planar.
“We attempted to fit my suit on him, but it was torn,” Planar said. “He died.”
“Oh,” she said. There goes our best source of intelligence on Quint, she thought. Grace looked at Raj, knowing he would feel miserable at the loss of life.
“I tried, but—sorry,” Raj offered.
“Not your fault, Raj. Must concentrate on Quint. Whatever he’s doing, or trying to do, we have to warn the Scout. Hunt him down.”
She looked down the aisle at Richard. He was trying hard to be engaged, but he was shaken and anxious. Mazz’s twisted frame still lay inert a short distance away.
“Grace—we’ve got to save Mazz,” Richard said. He glanced back to Mazz’s body. “I can’t leave him here—like this. He has been with me since I was a child—younger than Yvette.”
Euler’s face was still in a trance-like mask, but she turned to Richard at his words.
“Mazz’s body will be protected, Richard Archdale.”
“Mazz will be fine once the upgrades are restarted,” Planar added.
Grace leaned up on one elbow. No nausea. She’d come out of this much better than her last decompression. She hoped it was her last. She sat up.
“Euler? Need I say it’s a fair bet Quint did this?”
Euler’s lids flickered and then opened wide.
“I have sent the citizens to search for Quint Brown,” she said. “They will find him. It is just a matter of time.”
Good. “What are the parameters for the search?”
“Everywhere.” Euler was barely present, watching ordered streams of citizens leaving the dome.
“Ok, yes, but if we wanted to find him rapidly—where would he go to destroy your city?”
Euler blinked her into focus.
“Why destroy, Protector Donner?”
The question surprised Grace. She started to reply, but realized the words weren’t present. She still felt fuzzy-brained after the bout of low oxygen. Grace looked at the other twofers. No panic. No sense of urgency. They were either not aware of the intensity of the underlying contempt of robots by Martians, or they just assumed sentience guaranteed them equal protection under the law. Grace shuddered at another possibility: the robots believed they would just take their freedom.
“Euler, why do you think Quint came here?”
“He was in pain.” Euler considered. “He needed our technology.”
“Do you think Quint Brown values your technology too much to destroy it?”
“It was Robert Crusp who had disdain for us.”
“Trust me, Euler. If you thought Crusp’s yelling about robots was anything, Quint is a hundred times worse. He’s aposti. They hate you and your kind.”
“We know of aposti and their hatred of artificial intelligence,” Euler said, irritated.
“So you must see his plan is to stop you. Permanently. And he’s succeeding,” Grace said. “So I’ll ask again. How could he put an end to your plans?”
Euler’s face resumed the trance expression.
“Our vote would be—” She trailed off and her eyelids fluttered. “Thorium.”
“The stuff Crusp tried to steal?”
“Affirmative.”
“Where is it?”
Euler’s lids briefly fluttered again. “The depository,” she said. “Wait a moment. Sending citizens.”
Grace watched as tics flickered on the twofer captain’s face.
“Quint Brown is not at the depository,” said Euler.
Grace nodded. “All right. Good. Then we should send the citizens to—”
“The thorium is gone.”
“What?”
Euler’s eyes were wide, the whites visible on all sides.
“Gone. All of it. As well as the pawns.” Euler came out of her trance and looked at Grace. “Protector Donner—you must hurry. The surface units, and your Mazz, will restart in less than thirty minutes. When they do, their incomplete programming will cause irreparable systems failure.”
Chapter 39
Quint leaned against his ship, peering into the aft cargo hatch. The thorium deposi
t grew. Four hours ago, the first wave of purple pawns had coated the floor of the hold with a silvery sheen, but now thorium filled the area to half its capacity. A long, purple cloud stretched from the ship to the city as pawns deposited thorium and returned for more. That had been the most dangerous part. At that moment, someone could have traced the pawns back to his ship. But Archdale and his crew were trapped with Euler in their dome, and the only machine stupid enough to find him lay in a broken heap on the cavern floor beside the ship.
Quint noticed some of the pawns were clumping and restless. He looked at his ptenda and confirmed that the pawns were no longer returning for additional thorium. Essex City had been depleted. Quint smiled.
Goodnight, Essex freaks.
The Essex robots were so certain of their superiority that they hadn’t even cared about their dependency on the microscopic scum they’d created. Without their microscopic crutch, they would grow cold and silent, wrapped in their dead geyser. The robots on the surface would remain locked in an upgrade cycle that would never complete, their energy stores dwindling, fated to rust into scrap under a harsh Martian wind. Humans would lose robots, but they would survive. They could live without their technological crutches. The people of Mars would rediscover creativity, ambition.
Mars will finally be free.
Quint blinked through his comm menu, noting the weak but persistent link to the surface network, yet another confirmation that Essex City ruled no longer. Without power, they could not block signals. Quint watched the pawns swirl as he waited for enough signal strength for an encrypted connection to Albor Dome.
His helmet beeped, and Quint confirmed the notification with another blink, establishing a connection request to Uriah Panborn. The status went green. That was fast.
“Lord Panborn,” Quint said, “the final wave of thorium has loaded.”
In the silence of his suit, he heard the aposti exhale and then swallow.
“Good, child,” Panborn said, his voice trailing off into a sonorous thrum.
Quint hated child, certain that he was far older than the aposti. Still, the hooded man had done everything he’d promised. Panborn had ministered to him in Albor Detention, advocated for his release, and helped him find work after nearly a year of confinement. And the aposti had been the only one willing to listen, willing to accept that life on Mars needed to change.