City 1 (14 page)

KEVIN WAS SO SHOCKED HE JUST STOOD IN THE DOORWAY, HIS MOUTH
agape. One of the bots pushed him on the back, not quite a shove, but hard enough to send him into the room. The door slid shut behind him.

“Grandfather?” he said quietly. “But . . . you were killed . . . I saw Grennel shoot you. . . .”

“Shot, yes—killed, no,” said Dr. Winston. “I thought I was dead, Kevin. I don't remember much . . . just the pain, passing out, and then I woke up in a rejuve tank.” He frowned and looked away. “Unfortunately,” he added quietly. “It would have been better for both of us if I had indeed died on the floor of my lab.”

“What do they want?” said Kevin, not really wanting to know the answer. “What are they going to do to us?”

“Two very different questions,” said Dr. Winston. He sat down on the metal bed. “What they want is for me to help them bypass their replication block.” He looked at the wall, hands in his lap, lost in thought.

Kevin waited for an explanation, then, exasperated, asked, “What's that? The replication block?”

Dr. Winston started. “Yes, of course . . . sorry . . . I'm a foolish old man, lost in my thoughts.” He patted the bed next to him. “Sit,” he said, then continued. “About ten years before the revolution—it was 2042, I think—our warbot artificial intelligence had advanced to the point where the bots had begun to design and implement their own improvements. I was called back into service—I hadn't worked for the military in years at that point—because the generals and politicians were spooked.

“It was an incident in Asia that did it. We had a field factory out there, near where we were fighting about something . . . I can't even remember what about. Maybe the Chinese were invading India again?” His eyes unfocused for a moment, then he shrugged. “Anyway, we negotiated a cease-fire but there was a comm failure and we couldn't stand down the bots remotely, and when crews arrived they found that they had no idea how to manually shut down the bots.

“The new models, you see—designed and crafted by the bots themselves—had designed away their failsafes.” Dr. Winston paused.

“And?” said Kevin. “What did you do?”

Dr. Winston waved his hands dismissively. “Eventually the bots stood themselves down. But like I said, I was brought in, and I worked with Harrington, Chesnick, and a few others to design the replication block code.

“Long story short, lots of interesting coding, then diplomatic back and forth to get the major powers to buy in—but it wasn't just us; everyone was spooked by the bots birthing uncontrollable versions of themselves. So a year later we had a worldwide implementation of our code, which made it impossible for a robot to create another artificial life form by itself. We built in lots of roadblocks, too, hoops for the military to jump through to create more warbots even with human approval. I was quite proud of myself at the time, actually.” He shook his head ruefully. “Considered myself quite the peacemonger.”

“So the bots now . . . they can't build more of themselves?”

Dr. Winston nodded. “Correct. They can't remove the code, and they can't replicate. That's one of my justifications for building the Island, actually. I believed if I could just survive long enough, the robots would slowly diminish in numbers, as others fought. You were right,” he said. “I was a coward.”

Kevin shook his head, but he couldn't get himself to disagree out loud. His grandfather had indeed been a coward.

Dr. Winston, waiting, watching Kevin, then frowned sadly and looked away. “And as for your second question,” he said, “what they're going to do with us . . . well, they're going
to use you as leverage to get me to help defuse the code. And after they get what they need, they're going to re-educate us, or kill us.”

Kevin was suddenly very afraid. He stood up, but his legs felt rubbery, so he sat back down. “Which one's worse?” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” said Dr. Winston.

“Death or re-education?” said Kevin.

Dr. Winston stood. “I am sorry, Kevin. I can be thoughtless. I am not good with people, not even family.” He put his hand on Kevin's shoulder. “Neither will happen. You will not be killed. You will not be re-educated. Understood? I will find a way to protect you.”

Kevin nodded weakly.

“You don't believe me,” said Dr. Winston.

“No,” said Kevin. “I don't.”

“Say it, Kevin. Say, ‘I will not be killed.'”

“I will not be killed,” Kevin whispered.

“I will not be re-educated.”

“I will not be re-educated,” Kevin repeated. Dr. Winston nodded, satisfied, but Kevin still didn't believe it.

“RUST,” SAID LEXI. “ISN'T THERE SOMETHING WE CAN DO?”

The seven survivors who refused to submit to the de-chipping procedure left the temporary camp, heading north, away from the City. Nick watched them go, feeling helpless and angry. They were probably going to get killed, but what could he do for them? Insist that Clay let them stay? That would certainly go over well.

“No,” he said to Lexi angrily. He felt like a coward, and he was mad at himself, but it came out sounding like he was mad at her. Lexi raised her eyebrows at him, and walked away to talk to Doc. Nick thought about how to apologize, or explain . . . but it was complicated.

He heard the crunch of approaching footsteps, and turned
to see Ro coming his way, along with Rabbit. The gash Ro had received in the City had turned into a jagged pink scar. Rabbit looked worse. He had a black eye and his nose was crooked and swollen. Nick suppressed a smile. Erica had really done a number on him, apparently, when she escaped.

“Come with me,” Ro said. Nick thought,
Hell, what now?
but followed Ro and Rabbit to a quiet spot behind one of the collapsed buildings. “Were you involved in any way in Erica's escape?” Ro said abruptly. “Do you know anything about her plans?”

Taken by surprise, Nick shook his head. “No,” he said. “That Erica's work?” he said to Rabbit, nodding at the man's bruised face.

Rabbit scowled. “He must know something,” he said to Ro. “I'm telling you, he was soft for her.”

Ro stared at Nick, saying nothing else. Nick folded his arms over his chest and stared back. Ro nodded at Rabbit. “Go,” he said.

With one more glare at Nick, Rabbit walked away.

Ro watched him leave, then turned back to Nick. “I believe you,” he said. “But the General is going to have questions, when things settle down enough for her to bother. Rabbit is right, I know you have some sympathy for Erica.” Nick started to protest, and Ro held up his hand and cut him off. “Think,” he said. “Do you have any idea where she may have gone?”

“I don't know,” Nick said. “I know she was worried about
her brother, especially after our attack, when the bots would realize she had given them bad intel . . . but I have no idea where she went.”

“And your sister?” said Ro. “And Farryn? And your brother?”

“I don't know,” Nick said, his voice catching in his throat. “They went into the battle, I think. I don't know.”

“Clay's not happy,” said Ro. “Especially about Kevin.”

Nick wanted to say something like
Clay can go rust herself
, but he kept his mouth shut.

“You're running out of people,” Ro said.

“Yes,” Nick said quietly. “Yes, I am.”

Ro shook his head, then began walking away. “Come on,” he said. “Help me organize the survivors. We're headed for better cover.”

The rebels quickly organized the City survivors, and led them north an hour, deeper into forest cover. They waited there for a day, Ro assessing the skills of the new recruits, Nick growing more and more agitated. He couldn't just hide in the woods, doing nothing.

The next morning two scouts returned from the south, disappearing into Clay's tent with Ro and Grennel. They reemerged after a half hour, and soon after the word filtered down through Ro's lieutenants to the rest of the rebels—there had been no sign of bot reinforcement from other cities. No air support. No land support. Nothing.

Why? Everyone in camp was speculating. Some thought the bots didn't care about City 73, and were saving their resources for more important Cities. Nick heard someone say that the bots were cowards, and now that they had a real fight on their hands, they were running scared. Another rumor was that the bots' communication network was somehow down, so they couldn't organize. And quietly, a few were saying that perhaps it was a trap, that the bots were waiting for the rebels to overreach, and then they would really show their numbers.

None of it sounded quite right to Nick, although he didn't have any better ideas. Maybe Erica's false intel had worked even better than they had hoped?

And then the orders came down . . . they were going to push forward . . . first a quick recon back to City 73 to gather supplies, then a march to the northwest, to take on another City.

Apparently
, thought Nick,
we're going to press our luck.

HER PARENTS AND SISTER, TO CASS'S EARS, SOUNDED LIKE ELEPHANTS
when they walked. It was as if they were going out of their way to step on every branch, kick every pebble, crunch every leaf, splash in every drop of water. She knew it wasn't their fault—they knew nothing about traveling outside the City—but it still grated on Cass's nerves. A good tracker, human or bot, would hear them coming a hundred yards away.

She had asked them once to try to be more quiet, and they had looked shocked, then tried their best. It was almost comical, the way they began picking their way like they were walking through a minefield. Their pace was so slow that she soon told them not to worry about it. Even doing their minefield walk, they were still noisy.

Farryn, his gait stiff on the right side because of his fake leg, somehow managed to be fairly quiet. He didn't sound like a Freeposter, certainly, but he did surprisingly well. “You're a City boy,” she whispered to Farryn, loud enough for only him to hear. “How'd you learn to walk so quietly?”

Farryn shrugged. “Learned from you, I guess. I've done a lot of watching you walk.”

Cass, flustered, couldn't come up with a witty reply, so she dropped back to check on her parents and Penny. Her parents looked tired. Her mother had a scratch on her cheek from a tree branch, and her father had torn the sleeve of his shirt. Penny, on the other hand, looked fresh, and she smiled when Cass began walking beside her.

“It's different than I imagined,” Penny said. She waved her hands at the trees. “The wilderness, I mean. It's not as . . . not as wild, I guess.”

“We're still close to the City,” Cass said. “There's not much forest yet.” They were just a few miles outside the City, and the terrain was mostly roads and abandoned pre-Rev buildings, with only patchy tree cover.

Penny's face fell. “Oh, yeah, of course. I'm an idiot.”

Cass felt terrible. “No! It wasn't stupid. . . . I mean, you've never even been outside the City, so how would you know? You're doing great, actually. It's amazing how well you're doing.”

Penny's face lit up again. “Thanks, Cass.”

Cass's mother smiled weakly at the exchange, but her father remained grim-faced.

They broke for lunch, resting on the bank of a ravine. They were still close to a roadway, and without much cover. Cass would have preferred to keep walking, but she knew that her parents needed a rest. At least the ravine bank helped a little—they would be able to see someone, or something, coming on the road while still hidden.

Lunch consisted of two packs of noodles taken from her parents' kitchen, boiled in a pot of water over a very small fire. The noodles didn't properly hydrate—they had been designed for a City hydrator, not a campfire. They were crunchy, but edible.

“Have you ever had squirrel?” Farryn asked Penny.

Penny shook her head, her eyes wide.

“It's better than you'd think. Especially when I cook it,” he said. He leaned forward. “Cass tends to burn it,” he said in a mock whisper.

“Farryn,” Cass began, and then she saw the movement, off in the distance on the road, and she hissed, “Down! Everyone down! Stay quiet!”

Farryn hit the ground, followed a moment later by Cass's father and mother, who pulled a bewildered Penny down to the grass.

“Stay down,” Cass whispered. She peered over the edge of the ravine bank. There—yes, she hadn't been imagining it—a
group of people was coming up the road, moving north, from the direction of the City.
Are they rebels?
she wondered. But what were they doing walking openly on the road? And then with a flutter of fear she thought,
Could they be humanoid bots, like the Lecturers?
But no, as they slowly drew closer, she could see that they walked like people, and she began to make out details. There were seven of them—three women and four men. They wore City clothing—the bright colors of the women's dresses had been what had caught Cass's eye. They had no weapons that Cass could see, certainly no rifles. Only a few carried any gear at all—two of the men had plastic sacks slung awkwardly over their shoulders. They trudged up the middle of the road, keeping a decent pace, although they looked weary. Cass could hear their footsteps and the scraping of pebbles.

Farryn crawled up to the lip of the ridge, joining her to her left, and then, more loudly, her father crawled up on Cass's right.

“I said stay down,” she whispered to both of them, annoyed.

“They're from the City,” her father said, ignoring her, and he began to rise. Cass grabbed his shirt, and, surprising herself with her own strength, yanked him roughly back down.

“No!” she whispered. “Not safe!”

Her father glared at her, but she held on to his shirt. “They'll get us killed,” she said. Her father's angry expression faded, and he blinked slowly, then nodded. She let go of his shirt. He stayed down.

They watched the group come closer and closer, eventually passing by within thirty feet of them. The group never once looked in their direction. The seven of them kept their eyes grimly up the road. They looked tired. One of the men was walking with a slight limp.

Blindly marching up the road, making all that noise, with their bright colors . . .
How long would it take for them to be captured by bots, or discovered by the rebels?
Cass wondered. She knew she couldn't get involved with these survivors—she'd never be able to feed them all, and with their obvious lack of wilderness skills, they'd be a beacon for any enemies within miles. She had to look out for herself, and her family, didn't she? Still, she felt guilty and selfish as she watched them slowly disappear up the road.