Rebirth (Archives of Humanity Book 1)

by Justin DePaoli

  “Major General Imus is competent. You must trust he will persevere and will arrive here shortly.”

  The jaws of anxiety were squeezing her like a vise. There was a reason why Orissa had, before freeing Leon, made the hunting and killing and torturing of Machines her sole goal in life. A reason besides her hatred of those metal fiends.

  The hunt was a routine. It was an absolute, the outcome binary. The sun would rise and so would she, on the trail of a knowledge bot or Duelist or Prime. By dusk, she’d find her target or she wouldn’t. The outcome never influenced the next day’s events, for the hunt continued infinitely.

  There was comfort in routine. In knowing what the future held. Her mind tended to spin like a vortex, one thought forking off into two more—but by putting herself on a linear path, she quieted her mind.

  That quietness had long been annihilated by a constant noise that was now approaching climax.

  Her heart crashed against her breastbone. Her breaths were shallow, ragged. This endless facility felt like it was collapsing on top of her, walls slamming shut against each other like doors.

  Maybe her face had gone pallid or Droll had noticed the distance in her eyes, but he seemed to sense her panic.

  “Orissa,” said Droll, “follow me.”

  She trailed him down the steps without question. It was good to have direction. To have a decision made, even if it hadn’t been hers to make.

  “My mapping algorithm suggests this atrium narrows approximately three miles to the north and continues until it reaches a wall or door. I suggest we go there. The code repository responsible for holding the Injector software will likely be hosted on a server away from public gathering areas.”

  “We’d better hurry,” said Orissa. “Once the Machines realize the payload from that missile was empty, they’ll be harking to get back here.”

  Droll turned in his wings and took off through the atrium. “Am I moving too quickly?” he asked.

  “You’re not moving fast enough,” she said, her strides effortless. “I’ve been molded by the wilds, don’t forget.” She tapped him on the back of his shell and passed him by.

  Droll surged ahead of her. “You rely on lungs and muscles, haais do not. We are the superior race.”

  “That would be funnier if my kind weren’t facing extinction.”

  “Apologies. Humor is—”

  “I know. It’s one of your weaknesses. Trust me, I know.”

  Three miles felt like ten, the sight of empty desks, vacant chairs, and recreational areas void of life haunting Orissa’s vision. She passed a soulless library with cobwebbed shelves and moth-eaten sofas, a worship chamber with two rows of pews sitting before a modest dais and lectern, and a hydroponic grow system whose tubes and hoses had long gone dry.

  The atrium narrowed as Droll said it would, condensed into a hospital-sized hallway that continued straight.

  “We’re near the end,” he said.

  Before they got there, Orissa’s attention was seized by two enormous rooms on either side, shielded by tinted glass that absorbed Droll’s light.

  Orissa slammed the butt of her gun against the glass, punching a fist-sized hole in the pane. She used the submachine gun as a brush to clear away the jagged edged and widen the breach so she could step through.

  “Orissa,” called Droll from further down the hall. “There is a door here.”

  She shrugged. “Call me impatient.”

  “You are impatient.”

  The drone took his sweet time heading back her way, so she unhooked the flashlight from her belt to search around. No sooner did she click on the light than she went rigid and wide-eyed.

  As if the room lie between two mirrors, the space stretched on infinitely. Its vastness alone wasn’t the cause of her hitching breath and the ice in her veins, however. It was that and the Machines which filled the space. Machines of neither violence nor peace, of any temperament whatsoever.

  They looked like something she might find in a critical care ward of a hospital, Machines with countless tubes and wires and a large compartment door that housed what appeared to be an inflatable bag of sorts. Attached to a large screen on every apparatus was a laminated note which read:

  Maintain optimal stats! This is NOT optional. Countless embryos have been wasted due to carelessness and inattentive behavior.

  You WILL face penalties if your assigned embryo expires due to neglect, including reduced food rations, imprisonment, and banishment.

  “An embryonic hatchery,” said Orissa aloud, slowly drawing her flashlight across the Machine, closely examining it. “They were growing people in here?”

  “Doctor Servoni,” called Droll from the hall. Despite her insistence they communicate on a first-name basis, he still elicited her full title in all its seriousness during matters of importance.

  She returned to the corridor and found him at the very end, a halo of light surrounding his spherical body. He hovered before a metal door with a small square viewing window offering a glimpse inside.

  Orissa put an eye to the glass. To her surprise, harsh ceiling lights illuminated the room. A giant thermometer was attached to the wall, reading a temperature of -196c.

  “That is the temperature nitrogen ceases as gas,” Droll explained, “and turns to liquid. It is also the temperature needed to sustain—”

  “Cryopreservation. There are human embryos inside those cannisters. Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.”

  “Doctor Servoni,” announced Droll. “Machines have entered the facility.”

  Orissa swore. “How many?”

  “Many.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The speedometer read four hundred miles per hour.

  Underwater.

  In an aircraft.

  “Your ass looks clenched, Mister Imus,” roared Ivan in excitement. “You’d best not shit yourself all over my fine leather seats.” Still unfortunately naked, he cackled and clacked at several buttons on the control panel as haphazardly and indifferent as a toddler with a musical toy who knows not the particular notes of each button but only that they make happy sounds.

  Ivan must have been doing something right, however. The ship was still upright and speeding through the ocean.

  Leon was convinced he’d taken his last breaths as the fighter plunged vertically into the sea immediately after launching out of its hidden bay within the Atlas Mountains. It wasn’t until submersion that he remembered the placards and glass-enclosed shelves lining the walls in RayTech’s laboratory—celebratory technological achievements.

  On one of those shelves was a model ship that looked identical to this one, its name in bold white font on the placard.

  “The Nyx Skymmer,” said Leon aloud, glancing at Ivan.

  “First in the Nyx Class of amphibious fighters,” said Ivan. “Only bloody one in its class too. Shame the Rise came so soon. RayTech had plans to churn out these big bastards, oh if you could’ve seen ‘em, Mister Imus! The military man in you would’ve been in awe. I called them sky freighters. Bigger than aircraft carriers, capable of hypersonic speeds, tight turn radius. And with only a press of a button, she’d plunge into the Pacific and be on her way to the South China Sea by morning.”

  Leon grunted. “Shame the Rise had to come at all.”

  Ivan grinned. “Ah, of course. Of course! But if it was predetermined, or inevitable, or the result of an inexorable march on behalf of humanity to achieve unseen technological feats… well, I’d like to have a sky freighter on my side, all things considered.”

  The speed at which words vomited out of Ivan’s mouth astonished Leon. It was like watching a babbling baby, minus the cuteness and with the annoyance cranked up to ten.

  Clovis fluttered to the top of the dash. “It would appear there is an auto-steering function associated with this ship.”

  “Right you are, drone. Right you are. Good thing, too. You see the red dots here?” Ivan tapped at the radar screen. “Oceanic animals with a mass
of over fifty pounds show up here. Auto-steering avoids them. Otherwise, bam! You hit something that size going four hundred miles per hour and your body will be dispersed in tiny pieces of shark food. Now, Mister Imus, where in Florida are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re closer.”

  “Florida’s a big place. Allow me to venture a guess.” Ivan clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “Mm. Ah. Yes. I’m consulting the magical auras and chakras, Mister Imus. They tell me Orissa Servoni is searching for a facility there. Maybe in central Florida?”

  Leon clenched the side of his seat. “Impressive auras and chakras you’ve got there, Ivan.”

  Ivan smiled. “I know things, Mister Imus. So do you. Let us have an exchange of knowledge. Tell me the state of the world. The comings and goings, the doings, the… well, everything. I want to hear it all.”

  Leon stared ahead at the sea gushing into the windshield. Slowly, he turned his head toward Ivan. “I want to hear why you were the only one whose consciousness hadn’t been decoupled. I want to know why you hid a second EMP shield in RayTech’s lab. I want your secrets, Ivan. And you will reveal them.”

  The smile never faded from Ivan’s lips. “Ah, but I’m the one flying this ship. If you prefer, I could kill the engines until we… come to an agreement.”

  Leon lifted his rifle and shoved the barrel against Ivan’s head. That finally wiped the smug smile from his lips. “And I’ve got the only gun.”

  “You never did like me.”

  “Can’t imagine why.”

  Ivan leaned forward and swiped across a screen, the display switching from a top-down view of the Skymmer to a screen containing textual data.

  Destination: 25.5551 N, 81.7800 W

  Speed: 400 miles per hour

  ETA: 14:22 (150 minutes)

  “We’ll arrive at Key West, Florida, in two and a half hours. I’ll take the high road here, Mister Imus—as I usually do—and agree that we both have information to disseminate. Now, move that fucking gun away from my head.”

  Leon returned the magnetic pulse rifle between his legs, barrel aimed at the floor.

  Ivan stretched his arms high over his head, cracking his knuckles. “Let me ask you something. What’s your opinion of Mattias Varugus?”

  “Don’t remember him,” said Leon. “Orissa and I found some of his emails, but besides that… not much of an opinion to form. Well, that’s not true. He did save my life. Indirectly.”

  Ivan raised a brow in curiosity. “Oh, do tell.”

  Leon casually massaged a finger over his chest, nano-armor concealing the wound beneath. He told Ivan of the bullet he took from a Deadeye, of poison coursing through his veins, of being spared death by the medicinal chip Varugus had invented and stored within Droll.

  Ivan’s chuckling response was unexpected. “That bastard. That cheating swindler, impostor. You think Varugus invented that chip? Ha! That fucking… that fucking—” Ivan slammed the steering wheel in frustration. He straightened himself and adjusted an invisible necktie. “Pardon the outburst. I do not like the man. Or rather, monster. That’s what he is, you know?”

  Leon stayed silent. Ivan needed no prompting to continue. He was the sort of person who could hold a conversation with himself and by himself.

  “Oksana Svotchka,” said Ivan, wagging a finger at Leon. “That’s who saved your life, along with RayTech.” Another smile wormed its way across his lips. “To be fair, it was mostly Oksana. I had done only scarce collaboration with her, but enough that without RayTech’s technologies, she would have been unable to complete her ‘humanity-saving’ project, as she termed it. Shame it didn’t work out.”

  “Who the hell’s Oksana S…Sv… however you pronounced her name?”

  “A brilliant, brilliant scientist. Sadly, not a savvy businesswoman. Her company went bankrupt before she could bring the medical chip to market. I attempted to acquire the assets, but they were snatched out from under me by a company known as Servo Corp. Any idea who headed that company? I’ll give you three guesses.”

  Leon shrugged his hands. “I don’t know. I mean… Servo, it sounds a lot like Servoni.”

  “Ah ha! Keep going.”

  “Orissa—no. She would have told me if she had a business.”

  With a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes, Ivan slapped his forehead. “Rebecca, you dummy! Rebecca Servoni. The genius of our generation! The once-in-a-lifetime mind!” He laughed. “Somehow, that woman always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Do you know how many assets she’d acquired from broken and bankrupt companies?”

  Leon shook his head.

  “A helluva lot. Rebecca was a damn smart woman, but her inventions were hardly her own. I’m not sure she ever laid the foundation for any of her creations. Anyhow, that was a very long-winded way of saying the medical chip wasn’t imagined by Varugus or Rebecca, although the latter did admittedly put the finishing touches on it. Too bad only the prototype had been produced.”

  “Seems like a wasted opportunity to save a lot of lives.”

  Ivan nodded. “Yes, sir, Mister Imus. Ah, but it came a day late and a dollar short. The Machines had already gained a foothold by the time Rebecca had produced the prototype. Factories were destroyed and shuttered across the globe. Mass production of the chip was impossible. Procuring of materials likewise. If only she would have reached out to me earlier. She never liked me, however. Not even when I agreed—after being beat to the carcass of Oksana’s company—to assist in this particular endeavor.”

  Didn’t like you… that’s putting it lightly. It seems most people didn’t like you. He had half a mind to say that out loud, if only to strip that devilish smile from his face. But there was that saying about flies and honey.

  “All right,” said Leon, “besides Varugus’s apparent penchant for lying, what else about him makes him a monster?”

  With an adjustment of a dial, Ivan cooled the warm cabin. “Do you know what it’s like being alone with your consciousness for five hundred years, Mister Imus?” He spoke slowly now, deliberately. “It would appear that you do not remember the torture that is a consciousness server.”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  “And you’ve no memory of Varugus. Or likely anything that happened during the Rise, do you?”

  Leon stared at him, silent. He didn’t care for rhetorical questions and certainly wouldn’t stoop to answer them.

  “You’ll be telling me all about that shortly, however. Won’t you?”

  “I’m a man of my word,” said Leon.

  “I know you are, Mister Imus. I know you are. Did you know the consciousness servers were Rebecca Servoni’s magnus opus?”

  So Orissa claimed to learn from her dreams, thought Leon. But he shook his head, not eager to divulge her secrets.

  “It was to be the apex of human ingenuity and genius. A temporary haven for the mind when the body finally submitted and until a new one could be procured. It sounds so clinical and cold, doesn’t it? So dreary.”

  “Sounds like an attempt to play God,” said Leon.

  Ivan leaned into the door. Crossing his leg, he looked at Leon studiously, thumb under his chin. “Tell me, Mister Imus. Do you believe in God?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Surely you must know if you believe in an all-powerful being.”

  “I don’t.”

  Ivan tapped a finger against his lip, humming. “Let me tell you my theory of God.”

  Leon bore down on Ivan with narrow eyes and a tight jaw. “I don’t care about your theology. I want to know why your consciousness server was the only one still active.”

  “And I will get to that,” snapped Ivan, “on my own terms.”

  Leon raised his gun and lay it on his lap.

  “Oh, please,” said Ivan. “Stop with the threats. You and I both know you won’t shoot me. You’re overplaying your hand, Mister Imus! So let me proceed at my own pace. I promise I’ll deliver whatever knowledge you seek
before we step foot on the cursed swamp of Florida, and you’ll also give me what I want.”

  He’s right, thought Leon. I’m acting like an amateur bank robber trying to coerce a teller behind a bulletproof pane to put the money in the bag.

  “Let us talk of God again,” said Ivan as the ship plunged deeper to avoid a flashing red dot on the radar. “His existence, if true, has held humanity back. Take Rebecca Servoni, for instance. She abandoned her grand project not because it was rife with hard-to-solve problems, but because she was overstepping her authority on this earth. She was a woman of God, perhaps not a choir singer and neither did she sit in a pew every Sunday, but she was a believer and a worshiper.”

  “So you—”

  Ivan wagged a finger at Leon. “Ah, ah! Don’t interrupt. Had Rebecca the gumption and not her faith, I am confident she could have solved the myriad of complications involving the consciousness servers. Now, go on. What were you going to accuse me of?”

  Leon watched as Clovis was scanning the instrument array. He wondered if the drone despised Ivan as much as he did. “You decided to try and solve the problems for her. Or maybe you didn’t care about them. You convinced the president’s council to transfer their consciousnesses to the servers despite the risks.”

  Ivan howled with laughter, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. “Mister Imus, I am frankly very offended! And quite flattered that you believe I am capable of solving such highly technical problems. I am a businessman, not a scientist. This ship was born from the sweat and tears of the finest engineers and scientists in the world, who happened to work for RayTech. Do you know why the finest engineers and scientists in the world worked for me?”

  Leon stayed silent.

  Ivan rubbed his fingers together, miming the feel of money between them. “I pay well. Better than any company out there.” He chuckled and corrected himself. “Better than any company that was out there. I offered Rebecca billions in funding and my own employees to help solve the conundrums of her work, but she rejected my kindness.”