by C. Gockel
The new man’s features were slightly asymmetrical, but he had no sign of gray or lines in his forehead. He wasn’t rich either, and he was genuinely young.
Jake allowed himself to be pulled back, but he was frowning at Volka. Although 6T9 couldn’t see his eyes, his nose, eyebrows, lips, and ears were exceptionally symmetrical. “Jake” had had work done. Expensive work. He was the “Rich Boy.” “She owns a 6T9 ‘bot,” Jake protested.
“I own myself,” 6T9 said, stepping forward. Jake recoiled.
His friend put a hand on his shoulder. “This is non-violent, right? That’s what you told me.”
Humans were passing them now, heading toward the crowd in loose groups. 6T9 glanced back the way they came. The throng was denser away from the square. He saw smoke in that direction, too, and heard glass shattering. Toward the square he heard a child’s shout. Pinpricks of static flared beneath his skin.
“Come on, Volka,” he said. “We need to go to the square.”
Falling into step beside Volka, the man who’d held back “Jake” said, “You’re joining our protest without knowing what it’s about?”
“No,” 6T9 said, walking briskly. “We’re going to urge anyone not part of the protest to get inside.”
“It’s all right. It’s non-violent,” said the man. Walking beside them, he held out a hand to Volka. “I’m Michael.”
Without breaking stride, Volka took it. “Michael, just a warning, some of your friends aren’t going to be non-violent.”
“Naw,” Michael said, giving an uneasy grin. “We’re here to protest the new recruiting they’re doing…and there’s rumors they are going to institute a draft. We’re passionate but not violent.”
“What recruiting?” Volka said.
“For the Local Guard,” said Michael.
Jake broke in. “They’re all over the uni campuses right now.”
“And the unemployment offices,” said Michael, frowning.
“Local Guard?” said Volka.
Sixty explained, “Every System has local reserves. Your Luddeccean Guard used to be the Luddeccean Local Guard.”
“You’re Luddeccean?” Jake sneered. “Of course you wouldn’t care about a potential draft. You’re practically born into the military.”
Putting a hand on Jake’s shoulder, Michael said, “Easy Jake,” and then shook his head. “We asked for legitimate jobs, and they gave us the option of joining the Guard.” He huffed. “Well, if the draft is declared, it won’t be an option.”
“It’s a power grab,” Jake blurted. “They’re going to put this system under martial law like what happened in Luddeccea.”
Michael frowned. “More likely they’re going to get us shipped next system over to secure mineral convoys from System 6. They’re suckering us into being phaser fodder for the same corporations that put us out of work with their robots.” He glanced over at 6T9. “No offense.”
Jake snorted, and jogged off toward the square, but Michael stayed behind. 6T9 wanted to be blithe. He wanted to quip, “I doubt you’d want a sex ‘bot’s job,” but he wasn’t a paid sex ‘bot anymore. He was…well, a werfle keeper, really. 6T9 had a luxurious asteroid home to return to as long as Carl occupied his present body. When Carl’s body died, the asteroid would revert to his former owner’s grandson. So it wasn’t exactly a stable or secure job—especially with the trouble Carl got into—but it was a job that any human could do. 6T9 also helped deliver things with Carl, Volka, and Sundancer. He was in charge of contacting local port authorities over the ether, but that job could also be done by a human.
…and Michael’s fears about being phaser fodder weren’t baseless. This planet was rich because of time band and robotic manufacturing. The raw materials for both were in System 6, but that system had no habitable planets—partially due to an asteroid belt that hurled off natural extinction bombs at frequent intervals and partially due to the system’s century of unrest. System 5’s Guard had been called to aid System 6’s mineral convoys on more than one occasion. The minerals were treated as more valuable than the humans who guarded them. System 5 was very wealthy due to that sacrifice and had the most generous guaranteed Universal Basic Income because of it. Technically, Michael didn’t need a job…so why was he here? 6T9’s Q-comm hummed.
“They concocted the story about aliens taking over the time gate in System 33 to justify the troop buildup,” said Michael.
6T9’s Q-comm stopped humming.
Carl squeaked.
Volka’s eyes briefly met 6T9’s, and he imagined her carbon-based brain and his silicon-based one were having the same thought: Uh-oh.
Volka replied, “That was not a concocted story. Carl, Sixty, and I were there. There is an alien. And it is terrible. Your system is right to be prepared.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed at her, and he started to veer away.
“Michael,” Volka said. “There will be violence. I know that isn’t what you want.”
“Shut up,” a new male voice said behind them.
The next moment, Volka vanished, and something whistled by 6T9’s shoulder. He turned and saw a man in glasses. The man’s mouth gaped. He had a bat from an ancient Earth past-time in the air by his left shoulder as though he’d just swung it. A millisecond later he crumpled to the ground and screamed in pain, clutching his leg.
6T9’s head jerked down, and he saw Volka’s hands on the pavement, one leg out, heel where the man’s knee had been, a look of determination on her face. His Q-comm hummed, piecing together that she’d ducked beneath the bat swing that would have hit her in the head and kicked the man’s kneecap, possibly breaking it. Seconds later, Volka was up again and jumping on the wrist of the hand holding the improvised weapon. The man shrieked again and released the bat. Volka picked it up and twirled it in one hand.
Which was when 6T9 realized they suddenly had a very wide berth. But the mob behind them was dense, and there was smoke rising in the air.
Carl hissed on 6T9’s shoulder.
In the square, he heard a new Nan’bot say, “Please let me through,” and a human woman saying, “Please, we just want to go home.” A baby cried.
He couldn’t see the origin of the voices, but 6T9 started jogging toward them, knowing Volka would follow. Ahead he heard the woman’s voice again, “Please help me!” and the Nan’bot declared, “I am accompanying a minor!”
6T9’s legs pumped faster without conscious thought, his old programming taking over. He wanted to help them…but he also had to help them. His Q-comm hummed with what was a certainty: he was only a puppet on a string.
And then a man grabbed him, spinning him around with augmented strength. “It’s a ‘bot. Part of what we’re fighting against.”
He found himself facing the perfectly augmented face of Jake. And then his vision was filled with Jake’s fist.
For a moment, Volka lost sight of Sixty’s broad shoulders. Sundancer’s alarm sparked in her mind. Taking a deep breath, Volka tried to convey, “I’m all right.” She smelled burning rubber, wood, and plastic. The world dimmed, but this time it was a real cloud, not a gathering storm of anger. Which was good. Volka didn’t think she could handle any more anger. The crowd seethed with it, but also with excitement, and self-righteousness, sincere concern, and determination. A chant rose through the crowd in a wave of sound. “Recruiters leave! No draft! No blood for time bands! No blood for ‘bots! No ‘bots for our jobs!”
Oh, no.
“Carl! I can’t see you!” Volka spoke the words with her heart, having no real hope of being heard over the crowd. The ether might be down, but telepathy still worked, and Carl’s voice rang in her mind. “To your right, Volka, about two o’clock, four meters.”
Barreling in their direction, Volka shouted, “Out of the way.” She used the bat liberally. She didn’t see Sixty, but she saw Jake, looking down at something on the ground, a group of men and women crowded around him. Rage and certainty flared in the pit of her stomach.
Carl
said, “Jake knocked him over and—”
“I know.” Volka’s lip curled, and she brought the bat down on the side of Jake’s head. He staggered and fell over a few steps away from where 6T9 lay sprawled on the ground. Carl was on Sixty’s chest, hissing at some other humans who were keeping their distance.
“Do you think the werfle’s poisonous?” Volka heard a woman ask.
Straddling Sixty’s body, Volka growled, “Anybody else want to dance?” bat ready to swing.
The crowd backed away, tittering and nervous.
Beneath her, Sixty said, “An orgy! Fantastic.”
A child’s wail rose above the sound of milling chanting protestors.
“Ma’am,” Sixty said, “I’d be ready to go, but we have to ask the children to leave.”
“His Q-comm has slipped out of its socket again,” Carl grumbled.
Volka glanced down at Sixty. Raising his head, he beamed at her and waggled his eyebrows. Someone said, “Hey, Lady, don’t settle for a ‘bot when I’m the real thing.”
With a snarl, Volka knocked Sixty beneath the chin with the bat. His head flew back and bounced on the cobblestones.
“Whoa!” said the crowd. Someone else said, “Is she on our side?”
Voices rose around her in every direction, barely audible over the continuing rumble of the crowd.
“No, she hit Jake.”
“But Jake’s as full of it as a waterless toilet—”
Carl hopped onto her shoulder and began hissing and spitting at the curious onlookers around them. Jake was still down for the count, and the rest of the crowd jumped away from the spittle. The mob wasn’t completely out of control yet, Volka noted.
Rubbing the back of his head, Sixty declared, “I’m back. I have to get to the Nan’bot and the children.”
“Not as fast this time,” Volka said.
“It’s my programming!” Sixty protested, rising beneath her.
Carl squeaked and his thoughts tumbled into her mind. “Reason with Sixty so his Q-comm can override his core code!”
Grabbing Sixty by the collar, Volka met his eyes. “If you go too fast, I can’t keep up, and I can’t watch your back. This could happen again, and we will fail. Less haste, more speed, Sixty!”
His eyes fell to her lips. Was his Q-comm offline again?
“Do you understand?” Volka asked.
“Yes, thank you, Volka.” His eyes met hers again, and she backed off of him, turning around as he got up, keeping an eye on their onlookers, bat upraised to her right. Carl snaked around her neck and hissed to her left.
Sixty said, “I can push people out of the way. It is non-lethal, and in this instance doesn’t violate my programming. Take the rear.”
Volka nodded, eyes still on the crowd. It was the best use of his strength and her ability to knock people absolutely senseless. She growled at Jake, who was now moaning and clutching his head.
Sixty began plowing his way through the crowd with his android strength, saying, “Excuse me, pardon me, this is an emergency.” Volka shoved anyone on the right, who tried to retaliate against his passage, with her bat. On the left Carl hissed and spit.
“Where is the Local Guard?” Sixty shouted, over the crowd’s low, continuous roar.
Carl answered telepathically. “They are overwhelmed by the other protests that are already violent.”
“The smoke,” Volka said.
“Yep,” Carl replied.
“They’re busy at the moment,” Volka replied to Sixty, who hadn’t been in on the telepathic conversation.
He pushed two more people out of the way and declared, “I see the woman, the Nan’bot, and their children,” and veered left. Volka followed. She couldn’t see much of the square except what was above the crowd’s heads. There was a bronze statue in the center that featured idealized farmers with hand tools she’d expect on Luddeccea, and men and women who might be factory workers with wrenches and hammers. Their forms were nearly four meters high. They’d been depicted as muscular; their hands were larger than even their four meters would warrant, like Michelangelo's statue of David. Their expressions were stoic and resolute, their unseeing eyes gazing off into the distance. They depicted the first settlers; she knew from the ether guide to the city Bracelet had read to her when she first got her commission.
Other than the statue, the only other thing Volka could see was where the streets met the square—or where she guessed the streets were by the canyons between the buildings. She noted the buildings were shorter here in The City’s “old town”—only three or four stories tall—practical things made of the same cobbles as the streets. There should be cafes at their bases, according to the guideholos. That might be someplace to retreat to, if they could just get to the woman and the Nan’bot.
At that thought, Sixty pushed through a cluster of people, and the screams of a child pierced her eardrums, almost, but not quite, cutting through the chants of protestors. “You’re stealing our jobs! You’re stealing our jobs!”
An unfamiliar man’s voice shouted, “She’s holding a child!”
A woman said, “It’s going to be okay; it’s going to be okay.”
And then another woman’s voice, slightly tinny, said, “Android General 1, what are your orders?”
“Stay here, Volka,” Sixty said.
Volka turned around so her back was to his but glanced back as Carl hissed so she had a better idea of what was going on. There was a man dressed in a suit, holding up his arms. “I know you’re angry, but there are children here. Let’s not resort to violence.” There was a woman, presumably human, clutching an infant who was crying and a confused looking ‘bot. Volka could tell she was a ‘bot because she had rolling wheels instead of feet under a long dress. She had a wide face, thick torso, and human arms wrapped around a little boy who had dirty tear streaks down his face. It looked like they’d been trying to retreat down the road Sixty, Carl, and Volka had just come from, but with more and more people joining the protest, it was too crowded to go that way—even with a bat.
“You’re stealing our jobs!” A human man in glasses shouted in the Nan’bot’s ear. He jabbed the little boy in the cheek with his index finger. It wasn’t a particularly hard jab. It wasn’t dangerous, and Volka was supposed to stay put. She didn’t. With a snarl, she spun. Before she could lunge, Sixty was already there. He pushed the man with the flat of his palm. A simple, tiny gesture that if Volka had done it, it might have knocked the man off balance. With Sixty’s push, the protestor’s feet left the ground, and he flew backward. If the crowd hadn’t been so thick, he would have been launched meters through the air. Volka gaped—she’d never seen Sixty exhibit such strength—not that she disapproved; it was just he wasn’t allowed to hurt. Shaking off her shock, she turned away. Because of the soft landing the crowd had provided, the man hadn’t been hurt. 6T9’s giant computer brain must have calculated that and let him utilize greater force than usual.
A pair of startled, familiar eyes in the crowd caught Volka’s attention. It was Michael, the man who thought that the situation wouldn’t get violent. Ears flattening, Volka turned away.
Jaw tight, Sixty got the attention of the businessman and the frightened mother. Gesturing toward the road they’d been trying to take, he said, “That way is impossible,” and then inclined his head to one of the buildings nearby instead. In his Android General 1 voice, he said, “Nan’bot, sir, ma’am, this way. Follow me now.” It was a testament to the voice that they all obeyed, even the businessman. Volka took the left, nearest the street they’d just come from, Carl still on her shoulder. She held the bat in two hands at chest level, trying to keep the mob from plunging into their party. The businessman took the right, nearer the square, where people weren’t packed quite so much, and the Nan’bot and the mother with their children clustered in the middle. Volka could see a sign above the bobbing heads of the angry crowd, The Settler’s Original Pastry and Coffee Place, in enormous letters. It wouldn’t have been out of
place on Luddeccea…and it was less than ten meters away. Sixty was moving slower than a pole barge going upriver. People were packed so densely, there was nowhere to push them to, and more kept coming…but they were going to make it. She sent that hopeful thought to Sundancer and had an answering sensation of relief.
Someone, completely innocently, crushed her fingers against the bat with their shoulder as they squeezed past. Wincing, she counted down the meters. Less than seven now. Another person in the crowd was pushed by someone else, who pushed into someone else, who knocked Volka into the mother like a domino. Volka dug in her heels to keep them both from being crushed. Six and a half meters now…No one was pointing at the Nan’bot anymore or paying attention to Carl—the werfle’s nails were digging into her shoulder as he struggled to hold on. The crowd was too dense; everyone was just trying to keep their feet… that disorganization was more frightening than malice. There was no control now. They were like livestock packed in a magni-freight car headed for the slaughter. A frigid breeze rose, making the hair on the back of Volka’s neck stand on end, yet inside her a heat was rising, starting in her stomach, working its way to her skin. Volka started to snarl, and then realized what was happening. She was picking up on anger from one or more people. “Sixty!” she snarled. “We don’t have time!”
Sixty glanced back, their eyes met, and then he looked up and past her. Volka glanced over her shoulder. A flame was cruising through the air, arcing smoothly over the protestors toward the statue. It seemed to Volka that it was moving in slow motion. It struck the statue and shattered—it had been a bottle, she realized. Flames surged up the statue, engulfing the bronze effigy of a stoic farmer in fire. She’d seen similar bombs on Luddeccea in the weere settlement among the paltry Weere Resistance movement.
“What…?” shouted the businessman.
Other flying flames joined the first.
“Molotov cocktails, sir,” Volka said automatically, doubting she could be heard. Trying to hold back the wild crowd, she edged closer to Sixty, but it was all she could do to keep her feet. Someone slammed into her back. She turned, expecting to see the mother and the businessman, but they were gone, and she was staring at the back of a stranger. The sky was dark, smoke burned her nose, and she could barely breathe. Chants had turned to screams. She could smell blood.