Steel Guardian

by Cameron Coral

  He sat still, underneath the curtain and stared down at the baby. He’d hoped it had fallen asleep—one squeal would give them away. But the infants eyes were open, though its lids were heavy. What did Mach X want with him and the baby? Why was the infant so important? Or did Mach X know Block had taken something that didn’t belong to him? How he wished things had gone differently at the school.

  He messaged Sammy privately. What’s happening?

  He heard a rustling two feet away, where the TrackerBot lingered. Zina was chattering, but Block couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  Cybel Venatrix is checking out what Zina’s selling, but seems suspicious, Sammy replied.

  Block wanted more than ever to just be a CleanerBot. If he got out of this, he promised himself he wouldn’t be picky. He would give someone else the baby, and at the next decent hotel, he would stay and fix it up. If there were people, he would ask for employment.

  Then he had an idea. Sammy, he messaged, if you drove me away from here, to another town, somewhere safer, I would give you the best detailing job of your life.

  Detailing?

  Isn’t that what they call it when you clean a car? messaged Block. I would scrub every inch of you, inside and out, shampoo your carpets and fabric, and leave your glass clean and clear.

  Tempting, but no.

  Why not?

  Zina and I are a team, Sammy messaged. I go where she goes. And honestly, that baby makes you a huge risk. I don’t want to be blown up or scrapped.

  It’s all a misunderstanding, Block replied.

  Without warning, the rear door slammed shut. Oh, thank goodness, he thought. He lifted a corner of the curtain to peek at the video footage. On the screen, they had paced a few feet from Sammy, and it appeared Zina was giving directions to the machine.

  “That’s your cue,” Sammy said out loud. “Time to leave, buddy. Been nice knowing you.”

  Block shifted, letting the curtain fall to the floor. Then he thought better of it, picked it up, and began folding it into squares.

  “Leave it,” Sammy said, his side door sliding open.

  At his chest, Block glimpsed the child. Its eyelids were closed, its mouth moving as if sucking, and it teetered on the edge of sleep.

  “When you exit, go around the front, behind the other trucks. Figure a way out,” Sammy said. “Best of luck to you.”

  Block nodded, patted the seat, and climbed out of the van. Heading toward the hood, he tightened the belt of his trench coat and buttoned it to his neck, allowing just enough air for the child to breathe. He wished he had a hat, but that would look even more obvious. Chin lowered, he walked briskly away from Sammy, walking behind the adjacent trucks. He had to squeeze between the front grill of one truck and a chain-link fence. It would be bad to get stuck, and disastrous if he woke the baby.

  But he was trapped. The chain-link fence separated him from the woods, and the only way in or out was the gate where the two GuardBots stood watch. He could stroll through, but then what? Trekking along the highway would leave him exposed. Out here, the lands were flat and sparse. Not wooded like Illinois.

  But what other choice did he have? Sammy wouldn’t drive him. Block would have to take his chances on the highway and hope there was another town nearby where he could find water and diapers.

  He hesitated next to the truck, then ventured out, trying to blend in with the other robots perusing the market. One hundred feet from the gate, he pretended to browse items for sale. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Zina had returned to her spot on Sammy’s tailgate, but she was too far to make eye contact. She looked in his direction once, briefly, then turned to face the other way.

  Block supposed he couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t want to be scrapped for parts, either.

  There was a commotion at the gate as a nine-foot-tall combat mech entered the marketplace. Next to it, there paced a humanoid robot made of light green chrome. Its build was similar to Zina’s—meant for factory work. The mech yanked on a chain which led three disheveled humans trudging in single file, their wrists handcuffed. All machine eyes turned to the newcomers. The green robot and its mech companion advanced to the center of the market.

  Knowing it had everyone’s attention, the green FactoryBot announced, “These prisoners were captured ten miles from here. They are guilty of crimes against machines, including murder, destruction of property, and terrorism against AI.”

  Block wondered what the humans had done. In between two men was a woman, not much taller than Block, with jet black hair tied in a ponytail braid that hung down her back. Her skin was light brown and he couldn’t be certain of her age—twenty-five, perhaps. All three humans wore sturdy combat boots and army fatigues that were muddy, as if they’d been outside a long time. The men’s heads hung low and their shoulders were hunched, but the woman looked alert as she stared defiantly at the robots milling around in the marketplace. When the green robot passed her, she spat at its feet.

  She was the first human female Block had encountered since Chicago. Too bad she was a prisoner. A human woman would be the perfect solution to his baby problem. Who better to care for an infant of her own species?

  Block followed the perimeter, trying to bypass the spectacle in the center and escape through the entrance, and then his shoulder struck Cybel Venatrix.

  14

  Block recoiled and hunched his shoulders, wanting to disappear inside the coat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

  Cybel stepped sideways, regarding him. “Watch it.” Then she sauntered off toward the robots with their human prisoners. Wobbling a few steps, he realized how close he’d come to being recognized. He headed for the gate, unnoticed now that all of the attention was focused on the market’s center.

  “Who will be the lucky owner of these human pieces of garbage?” asked the green robot. “You can do whatever you want with them. Train them, enslave them, display them, or even execute them.”

  A wave of murmurs traveled across the gathered AI. Block wondered what a robot would possibly want with a human. Slaves? He’d never heard of such a barbaric practice. Would Mach X approve?

  Was this the new normal?

  Life had been so much simpler before the Uprising. Humans had had their place and robots had had theirs, and Block had been just fine with that arrangement.

  “I’ll start the bidding at 7,000 icons. Soldier number one,” announced the green robot. He placed a steel hand on the taller of the two men.

  A large, battered FactoryBot—an older model than Zina’s—made a bid. Then another robot raised it by two hundred. It was all happening so fast, and Block lost track of who was bidding. Cybel Venatrix loitered in the crowd, observing but not bidding. The robot’s dark facemask glinted as it glanced in his direction; he quickly lowered his face and steadied himself as he approached the exit. The trick was to not hurry. To not look suspicious.

  “Sold!” yelled the green robot. “Next up, a woman soldier. I expect the bidding to be even higher for this gem. The bidding starts at 10,000.”

  Twenty feet from the entrance, Block hesitated. If he bought the woman, she could take care of the baby. It would be the perfect solution—if he had any money. Would the gold watch be enough to make a trade? To win the bid? But Cybel lurked nearby. Still, this might be his only chance. He moved toward the crowd’s edge.

  “12,000,” offered the squat robot from the first truck. The one who had laughed at him.

  Cybel bid. “Twelve-five.”

  Why had the TrackerBot joined in? Someone tapped his shoulder from behind. He spun his head. Zina.

  What are you doing? she messaged privately.

  I want to bid on the woman. She could take care of the baby, but I’m scared to be discovered.

  Are you crazy? Zina grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the auction. Over his shoulder, he saw Cybel look their way. “That’s insane. How do you have any money?” Zina said.

  “I have this.” Block flashed h
is watch. “And I have access to a money account.”

  “I hadn’t noticed your watch before. How much in the account?”

  “Enough to match these bids,” he said.

  Zina cocked her head, and Block realized she was having a private conversation, probably with Sammy.

  Behind him, someone bid. “20,000.”

  Zina grabbed his arm. “Sammy and I will help. I’ll bid on the woman and we’ll get you out of here, but you give me the watch.” Was the watch more valuable than he’d anticipated? He wished he knew more about the world outside hotels. The bid had been raised again. There was no time, and he had to decide.

  “Deal,” he said, handing it over.

  Go to Sammy and keep quiet. She pushed him, then marched over to the market, yelling, “Thirty!”

  Cybel called out, raised it to 35,000, and Block noted a rising tension in her voice. Or was it annoyance?

  Zina called out, “Thirty-seven.”

  Block tried to shuffle discreetly past loosely gathered bystanders. The van was steps away.

  The side door is open and waiting for you, Sammy messaged.

  “Sold to the latecomer FactoryBot,” shouted the green robot.

  He had nearly reached Sammy when a flat machine voice sounded behind him. “Stop, CleanerBot.” Swiveling his head, he saw Cybel. He paused, unsure of what to say, realizing he would be bound in chains at any moment.

  “May I help you?” Zina approached from behind. “I already answered all your questions earlier.”

  The TrackerBot turned to stare at them. “Who is this?” She pointed at Block.

  “A friend,” Zina said. “What’s it to you?”

  “What’s with the coat?” Cybel asked.

  “Know what I think?” Zina was close to Cybel and two feet shorter. The larger machine looked like it could pound Zina into the ground. “I think you’re sore because you lost the human to me.”

  That seemed to surprise the TrackerBot. “How can you afford the human? What will you do with her?”

  “Whatever I damn well feel like,” Zina said. “I have my frustrations to take out on humans just like everyone else.”

  Bidding on the third and final human had gone quickly, and the green robot marched over with the woman. He led her by a chain secured to her cuffed wrists.

  “She’s your property now,” the robot said to Zina. “Here’s the chip card to release her from her cuffs. But I warn you, she’s a feisty one. Watch yourself.”

  Zina grabbed the chain and yanked it a bit, pitching the woman forward. “You hear that?” she said to Cybel. “My property now. Stand aside. I need to secure my property in my van.”

  Cybel hesitated and then stepped aside. She had no choice but to watch as Zina strolled away with the woman while Block followed. Zina shoved the prisoner into the vehicle and waited for Block to climb in when the baby shrieked.

  Shrill screams shredded the air and all heads spun to stare at them.

  15

  Block’s hands flew immediately to cradle the baby. He patted its back, trying to comfort it.

  Zina whispered, “Shut it up,” as Cybel Venatrix spun around, her black machine eyes rimmed with a glowing red. She stomped toward them.

  “Turn around,” she commanded.

  Block slowly shuffled around to face the intimidating machine. The baby squirmed in its sling, and he realized his chest underneath the coat was moving conspicuously.

  “Show me what’s in your coat,” Cybel said.

  The baby’s cries reduced to whimpers as he slowly unbuttoned the top of his trench coat. Cybel leaned in, peering down at the baby. The child twisted sideways and vomited in the TrackerBot’s face. Droplets of peach-colored liquid splattered across the machine’s black visor. She recoiled, straightened, and lifted a gloved hand to wipe off the goo.

  “CleanerBot, you are my prisoner now. By order of Mach X—”

  Zina shoved Block out of the way and raised an automatic rifle. She glared at Cybel. “Think again. He’s with me.”

  Sammy messaged him. Get in the van. Quick, while Zina is stalling.

  I don’t want to cause the two of you trouble, Block replied.

  Get in! Sammy said.

  Block turned toward Sammy, shielding the baby. He glanced at Zina, then sidestepped into the van. Crouching, his vision adjusted to the dim interior light, and he observed the wide-eyed female prisoner huddled in the far rear corner of the vehicle next to a stack of boxes, cuffed hands gripping her knees. Then he turned his attention back outside. Zina edged back, still training the gun on Cybel.

  “Foolish,” said the TrackerBot. “I’ll hunt you down and melt you into scrap. Mach X’s SoldierBots will help me.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Zina said. “I’m good at hiding.” Her right leg rested against the edge of the van, and she’d started to climb inside when a shot suddenly rang out. Zina’s left shoulder twisted backward. As Block peered through the door, Sammy’s engine roared to life.

  Grab her, Sammy messaged.

  Block leaned out the side door and seized Zina’s right arm as the van lurched forward. Zina’s legs flailed, her body thrown off-balance as Block held on desperately, trying to yank her inside. “Wait, she’s not inside!” he shouted. Sammy braked suddenly, nearly knocking Block out of the vehicle. He glanced down, saw the baby crying, but realized he’d have to take care of it later.

  Ten feet away, Cybel sprinted toward them, arm raised, the barrel of a rifle soldered above her forearm. Another shot pierced the crowded marketplace and Zina’s chest exploded.

  “No!” Sammy cried. “Is she in?”

  Block pulled, but Zina’s torso had twisted oddly from the impact. He released a vacuum hose from his rear pack and looped it around her waist as he leaned sideways, dragging her upper body inside the van’s cabin.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  Sammy’s tires spun in the grass and the van lurched forward, ramming against the chain-link fence. The rusty barrier collapsed as they burst through in a cacophony of metal screeching against Sammy’s steel exterior.

  Zina’s legs hung out the side door and Block nearly lost his grip on her. A bullet shattered Sammy’s rear window, sending glass shards through the interior. Block saw the female prisoner duck, rolling onto the floor of the van, and covering her head.

  Block’s back shielded the baby, and he wedged his feet in between two large boxes to root himself. Another yank, and finally Zina was inside on the floor of the van. Sammy shut the door as they careened toward the main road.

  “Zina, are you okay?” Block asked.

  Her head was tipped back and her front torso had a deep, craterous hole—shards of metal had peeled away like a tin can, exposing wires, mesh, and circuitry.

  “Was her CPU damaged?” Sammy asked.

  “Blerck,” Zina said, her words slurring.

  “I’m so sorry,” Block said. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”

  “Shirrup,” she mumbled. “No… sorry. I do it, would do again.”

  “Zina!” Sammy cried out. “Stay with us. I’ll get you help.”

  “Got me the CPU. Damn luck,” she said.

  “Fuck that TrackerBot,” Sammy said. “I’m gonna kill her.”

  “Get safe,” Zina stared up at Block. “Baby important, me think.” Her tinny voice cut out abruptly, and the blue-green glow in her eyes flashed, then faded.

  Block shook her gently by the shoulders. “Zina? We can get you help, repair you.”

  But she was dead. The damage to her CPU meant her systems had shut down one by one to reserve power long enough to sustain her. But even her auxiliary systems had run out now, the fried circuitry ceasing to function, like a human’s heart stopped beating after cardiac arrest.

  “No, no, no!” wailed Sammy as he veered off a country road and roared onto the highway.

  Block leaned against a pile of boxes and drew his legs to his chest as the baby squirmed and unleashed waves of sobs. “I’m s
o sorry.”

  “Zina was all I had,” Sammy said.

  They rode on, saying nothing, only listening to the shuddering wails of the upset child. Block glanced at the rear of the van. The prisoner woman now sat up, watching him. She met his gaze with a stony quiet.

  He felt responsible for Zina’s demise. If he’d never approached her, if he’d kept walking and left the market, none of this would have happened. But without Zina, he very likely would’ve been Cybel Venatrix’s prisoner right now. Who knew what would’ve happened to the child?

  He didn’t know what to say to Sammy. The smart van’s best friend had been gunned down, and it was all Block’s fault. That made things awkward, to say the least. He gazed at the baby who sniffled. Its open eyes formed tiny slits. The tiny body shuddered against his torso. He hadn’t noticed the infant making that tremor before; suddenly, its eyes rolled back, and he glimpsed only whiteness.

  “Hey there. Wake up.” He rocked and jiggled the baby, but it remained unconscious. At least, he was pretty sure that’s what was happening.

  A few feet away, the woman shifted her legs, her cuffed hands resting in her lap.

  “Excuse me,” Block said.

  She regarded him with narrowed eyes.

  “Could you please look at this baby? It’s fallen asleep, and I can’t wake it.”

  Her mouth twisted as if she wanted to say something, but she nodded instead. He crawled over beside her and removed the baby’s limp body from its sling.

  “What’s wrong with it?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She raised her wrists and brushed the baby’s cheek with two fingers. “Jesus. It’s burning up. Fever.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You need a doctor.”

  Block hung his head. It was hard enough trying to find food for the child—how would he find a doctor? He pinged Sammy, hoping to get his perspective on what to do, but Sammy had blocked his messages. Do not disturb.