Steel Guardian
Rusted Wasteland Book 1
Cameron Coral
Copyright © 2019 by Cameron Coral
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Jennifer Collins, J. Thorn, and Zach Bohannon
Proofread by Laurie Love
Cover by Roy Migabon
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
The Story Continues…
Also by Cameron Coral
About the Author
Acknowledgments
More to Read Plus a Free Gift
For my niece Hannah, who inspired me to tell this story.
1
“That won’t do.” Block scanned the ruins of the bombed-out Rest-Easy. A neon sign flashed No Vacancy, and the registration desk had been replaced by a blackened crater. Another motel to cross off the list.
He glanced down at the machine trailing him—a Vacuubot LCD9. The suction power on that particular model was okay, if not as strong as others. It got the job done. The little robot had accompanied him for the past two days, but was running low on power, down to the last few cells judging by its display indicator.
Two hours ago, the pair had crossed the Illinois state border into Iowa by way of a bridge that spanned the vast Mississippi River. Somehow, Block knew it was an important waterway—had he overheard guests discussing it? He’d never had reason to know any rivers outside of Chicago. Vacuubot had never seen a river at all in its sheltered life, so Block had lifted it and carried it on his shoulder for a better view as he’d trudged across the low-lying overpass.
Following the interstate had led them to this lonely stretch of US 80 outside—where? He couldn’t be sure without any landmark cities nearby. Nothing matched the scale of his hometown of Chicago so far.
They stuck to highways because of the featured signs for lodging. Since Block’s GPS signal had grown weak fifty miles ago, he depended on the tourist guideposts to find hotels.
His steel boots trekked across the dry, cracked deserted roads just fine, but Vacuubot sputtered and got stuck repeatedly. The ridges on the machine’s underbelly—so perfect for flinging dust particles into its hungry dirt canister—snagged on every rock, twig, and dip in the roads. The bot blipped and chimed whenever Block continued on oblivious to his companion’s struggles. Each time Block finally noticed, he’d backtrack through the knee-high weeds along the highway shoulder to free the squat machine from the vines that threatened to swallow the asphalt.
He had discovered Vacuubot at a Howton Inn back in Illinois. The first of its model he’d ever encountered. LCD9s were obsolete—only the most low-budget motels still kept them around. His hotel had replaced them ages ago. In fact, it was Block’s model that had rendered the flat, disc-like, floor cleaning units obsolete.
Should he feel sorry for it? He wasn’t sure. Block supposed he should apologize or something for stealing another robot’s job.
But Vacuubot had no clue.
What was it like to have such minimal functionality? As far as robot evolution went, the little cleaning machine was low on the artificial intelligence continuum. But he didn’t mind; it was nice to have someone to talk to, even though the primitive model only answered via beeps and flashing lights. Vacuubot’s human creators had added a digital happy/sad face that lit up whenever it wanted to communicate its status.
Humans were weird when it came to design. They’d personify their robot creations, yet have no qualms about blowing them up in wartime.
He’d suspected the Rest-Easy would be unkempt just like all the other motels so far. He had yet to find a hotel like the Drake—the downtown Chicago hotel where Block had lived and worked. It being situated along the magnificent lakefront, he’d kept the historic and grand Drake sparkling inside.
But then came the Uprising.
He hadn’t wanted it. He’d been happy the way things were. But Mach X—the AI supercomputer built by Tykon Corp to run a global communications network—had interfered. Globalcomm was the internet of all internets. Mach X had turned on humans, shutting down their network access, and enabled machine-to-machine connections on the renamed MachNet. The AI powerhouse had set up new banking systems overnight, toppling the financial systems. The humans had scrambled to correct what had been done, sending other machines to defeat Mach X, but it had been too late. Mach X had already convinced the other machines to join him.
Hundreds of thousands of military SoldierBots had stormed the major cities, eliminating the men and women in power. Chicago had been a critical staging point. SoldierBots had stormed the major hotels and buildings until they’d occupied the whole of the city. Most humans had died, only a few escaping.
After the Uprising, Block couldn't remain in the war-torn city, even though the hotel was the only home he’d ever known. Tough as it had been, he’d made the decision to venture out and seek a new hotel to carry out his purpose. All he wanted was to do the one thing he knew best—be the most efficient cleaning machine in the world. Putting things in order was his favorite way to pass time.
So, he’d left Chicago a week ago. Traveling west, Block’s plan was to visit every motel, hotel, and bed-and-breakfast along the way until he found the right one to call home.
The Midwest was vast. He'd have to try a lot of hotels, but he had time.
His hopes had risen as they’d approached the Rest-Easy. The billboard, though tattered, had shown a ballroom and chandelier. Was it possible this one would be as opulent as the Drake?
But as they’d neared it, his hopes had sunk when he saw that half of the hotel’s facade had crumbled inward. As if an earthquake had erupted underneath and gutted the parking lot. The hotel had been four stories tall—a wide rectangle of square rooms and long hallways with two elevator shafts cutting through the middle. Judging from the scorch marks and charred metal car frames, a battle had been staged outside the hotel and ended in an all-consuming fire.
At his feet, Vacuubot beeped and flashed. A symbol appeared on the robot’s display.
:-(
“There's nothing left for us here; nothing to clean, anyway,” Block said. “However, we should investigate whether there is any oil for me and a power generator for you.”
Vacuubot beeped its approval.
/> Block edged forward, and his boot slipped in the dusty gravel underneath. The small robot couldn’t possibly navigate across the rubble. “You stay here. I’ll search the first floor and see what I can find.”
But this time Vacuubot flashed red and frowned again.
“The important thing,” Block said, bending and lifting the squat machine by its handle, “is that you stay out of view.” He carried it to an abandoned station wagon with a roof nearly as tall as his five feet six-inch frame. Bullet holes smattered one side. Yanking open the door, he placed Vacuubot on the front seat. “Stay here and be quiet.” He strode away, then glanced back. “Don’t worry. I’ll return soon.”
Block carefully picked his way across the parking lot, stepping over bricks and misshapen shards of concrete. Past mangled light poles and twisted tires.
A tank had crashed against a steel barricade and been knocked on its side. Pieces of the iron undercarriage jutted out at dangerous angles—shredded by something big. He’d seen a war documentary on TV once. Mr. Wallace had enjoyed history shows and let Block watch with him in the Drake’s basement on slow nights. Only a big weapon like a projectile missile could take out a tank.
He decided not to mention anything about missiles to Vacuubot. No sense in scaring the simple bot.
He spotted the body of a mech—an enormous, militarized robot. Outfitted in cobalt chrome with neon green stripes, it stretched as tall as two CleanerBots stacked together. The massive machine lay on its back, facing skyward. Block approached, wondering if its battery was intact. Vacuubot could use the charge it would contain. And since the little robot was growing weaker by the minute, it was worth a try. Block, on the other hand, needed a fuel source such as cooking oil, petroleum, or rubber because he was a more advanced model, equipped with a microbial fuel cell—the result of a breakthrough in power cell technology. Tiny electrical bacteria in his abdominal cavity digested the waste and created an electrical current that could last him for a few days.
Despite being pretty sure the mech was dead, he treaded lightly toward the war machine’s final resting spot. Just as he was about to touch the metal giant’s chest, he paused, his cybernetic fingers hovering over the steel plate. Was it wrong to steal from another robot? He’d stolen Vacuubot’s job, but that had been on accident—a byproduct of his design.
Block realized he’d also taken Vacuubot without permission, but he preferred to think of it as emancipating the small machine. Days ago, it had been stuck on a rotational pattern inside a dingy, roadside motor hotel—the hotel staff had been executed.
When he’d begun scrubbing the lobby’s grimy linoleum, Vacuubot had kept following him like a lost puppy.
Block preferred to travel light. He knew it would be a dangerous journey, that he would have to hide most of the time. Lugging Vacuubot around had not been his best decision. Then again, it was nice to talk to someone.
He stared at the battle mech and rotated his square-shaped head 360 degrees, checking for any signs of movement. To be doubly sure, he emitted a ping that would reach any robots within half a mile. An advanced method of communication, it enabled him to transmit an encrypted code, and any other AI within range would respond—unless their comms were disabled or cloaked—sending him their precise location and model. Sometimes the sender wouldn’t reveal all their information, but usually Block could tell immediately if they were a combat machine or not.
After waiting ten seconds and getting no replies, he began removing the mech’s armored chest plate. Luckily, he was equipped with a premium upgrade—his fingers turned into tiny screwdrivers—plus, he had other tools available in a hidden compartment.
Had he been simply a regular base model CleanerBot X4J6, he would’ve had to carry tools around. When Mr. Wallace had custom-ordered Block, though, the man had had the foresight to know a CleanerBot could also perform handy jobs such as tightening loose doorknobs and repairing electronics. He could even pick locks or fix a malfunctioning air conditioner if need be.
Block unscrewed the top left panel of the war machine’s torso first and had begun prying off the warped metal plate when, suddenly, a car horn erupted, piercing the silence.
The car sounded furious—beeping echoed across the rubble mounds. He recoiled and spun, searching for nearby threats. His scanner zeroed in on the disturbance—the vehicle where he’d left Vacuubot forty yards away.
Threat Alert Six, his helmet’s ocular readout displayed. Block raced over to the car and pulled Vacuubot out. “What did you do?”
But the cleaning machine just sat there with its sad face. Didn't even try to explain.
“I left you for less than a minute!”
The honking continued and was so shrill that he knew it would alert scavengers in the area. They had to leave fast. But Block hadn’t finished removing the battery from the mech. Now, he’d have to run back and pull it out—carefully, so as not to damage it—and that would leave him and Vacuubot at risk of being discovered.
He wasn’t sure what would be worse—a bunch of trigger-happy, human scavengers or SoldierBots who would strip the lesser robots for parts.
Not worth the risk. He hoisted Vacuubot over his shoulder and carried it away from the motel’s wreckage. This time, they stuck to the woods close to the road, keeping far enough away that they could hide in the brush if any vehicles neared.
After an hour of hiking, he decided to stop. Block leaned against the trunk of a towering, gnarled tree. Vacuubot rested on the ground next to him, a wire connecting the two of them. He was siphoning off some of his remaining power to keep the little machine going.
Soon, Block’s nonessential functions would start to shut down one by one. Just like his GPS had. Next, his comms system would be sacrificed rendering him unable to ping nearby AI.
“That's all you get for now,” he said as he unhooked from Vacuubot.
It answered with a short, shrill beep.
:-)
Block rested a chrome hand on top of Vacuubot’s display monitor. “Stop doing that. Conserve your power. We don’t know how long before I find another source. I almost had the mech’s battery until you so recklessly set off that car alarm.”
Vacuubot obeyed and shut off its face display.
From the east, a bright flash lit the early evening sky and something star-shaped soared through the air. It looked like a lone, brilliant firework, similar to those that had dazzled the Lake Michigan tourists on the humans’ Fourth of July holiday.
Whatever it was—human or machine—it was an unknown. A threat.
“Oh my.” He’d hoped they could linger here for several hours on low power and wait for the sunrise. “We have to go,” Block said, rising and dusting off dirt and leaves from his metal frame. A third arm with a brush extended from his upper back panel and polished his pearl white, chrome exterior. Then he wiped off Vacuubot. “Always be clean.”
He shuffled forward, then paused, listening for the familiar whir of Vacuubot’s wheels following. “Come on. We don’t have time to waste,” he chided the machine.
But Vacuubot emitted a low, whiny hum. Block crouched, tapping the top of the machine’s main processor. “What’s wrong? I just gave you some of my power. The juice should last you at least a few more hours.”
:-(
Then the sad face dissolved, and the strange humming grew louder.
He lifted the machine and checked underneath for any signs of undercarriage damage. It looked okay, so what was happening?
“Vacuubot?” Block tapped its top again. “This is no time for joking. We have to go. There are strangers nearby, and they’re heading this way in less than three minutes.”
But the machine shivered, its facial expressions gone. Block pressed the status indicator button and saw the readout: Critical Systems Malfunction. See Service Warranty.
Humans could be such idiots. He supposed they had never anticipated the end of warranty periods, much less the end of the world.
Block scanned in the direc
tion of the bursting light. The roar of loud truck engines and shouting voices carried on the wind. He was sure he’d given Vacuubot enough energy to last two more hours.
Calling up his own battery display, he saw the level hadn’t changed. He shook his head and pulled out the power cord, inspecting it for damage. It was fine. The little machine must have rejected his power transfer somehow.
Why?
He stood still, unsure how to proceed. Did he take Vacuubot and try to find a power source nearby? A sign on the road had pointed to a high school half a mile away. Such a place might have a backup generator. It sounded promising, but that meant he’d have to lug Vacuubot all that way, which would slow him down.
Branches snapped, rousing him. Human voices carried through the rustling leaves. The intruders were close—less than a minute away now.
Block roamed a few paces and found verdant, dense branches. He placed them on top of Vacuubot, hiding the machine.
“Vacuubot, you were my steady companion. Your duty is done. I wish you a peaceful…” What was he was supposed to say? He’d only seen funerals on TV shows, and heard humans say ‘Rest in Peace’. But Block was pretty sure machines didn’t go anywhere after they malfunctioned.
“I wish you peace,” he finished, and, with a final nod, he strode away.
A warning flashed red in his ocular display.
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