Fugitive X (22 page)

Nick couldn’t find any words. He was angry, shocked . . . but a part of him understood. You had to do what you could to protect your family.

“No,” said Ro. “There’s not one of us who’d be a traitor for the bots.” He nodded at the men still holding her arms. “Tie her up. Collar her. I’ll interrogate her later, and then we’ll execute her, but right now I just want her out of my sight.”

ONE BOT STOOD GUARD OUTSIDE THE GOVERNOR’S WORKSHOP. WHEN IT
saw Kevin running up, it initially raised its arm menacingly, then lowered it and stepped to the side. “The Governor will see you,” it said. Kevin rushed inside and down the stairs.

His grandfather was pacing back and forth, his hands behind his back. “17, report,” he said. “17! 12? Report!”

“Dr. Winston,” said Kevin.

The Governor ignored him, continuing to pace and bark orders to the air.

“Grandfather!” said Kevin.

Dr. Winston stopped walking and looked over at Kevin. He sighed and shook his head. “It’s a mess, Kevin. An absolute mess, from what I can tell. What have you seen?”

“The mess hall blew up, and 23 wouldn’t let Otter try to save Wex, and now everyone’s rioting.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Winston. “I don’t know what happened with the mess hall. Hopefully Captain Clay can get everyone under control before too much damage is done.”

“They’re going to rip apart all your bots,” Kevin said. “Or the bots are going to kill the Islanders.”

Dr. Winston slammed his hand down on the table. “No! My bots won’t kill anyone. They will stun, but they won’t kill. It is impossible. I wouldn’t make that same mistake again.”

“Well, then, all your bots are going to be destroyed,” Kevin said.

Dr. Winston sat down heavily on his workbench. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said quietly. He rested his palms on his thighs and hung his head. Kevin thought he suddenly looked very, very old.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Kevin said, struck by the urge to say something to comfort this old man, his grandfather, who looked like he was about to cry. “The Wall’s basically done, right? You don’t really need the bots’ help anymore. I mean, this was bound to happen—people and bots just aren’t supposed to be together. . . .”

“But they are, Kevin!” said Dr. Winston, rising up. “They are! My robots were supposed to make things better, to save lives!” He sat back down. “To be useful tools, nothing more,” he said more quietly. “I thought I could do it better this time,
make it right in this small little world when it went so wrong in the real world.”

“You can still help make it right,” said Kevin. This was his chance, he knew . . . “Help me. Help me find my brother and sister, and save my mother and father. Your son.” Kevin realized that he had balled his hands into tight fists and his nails were cutting into his palms. He forced himself to relax his hands. “And help us fight back against the bots. You know them better than anyone. You can make a difference.”

Dr. Winston stared at Kevin. Kevin couldn’t quite read the expression on his grandfather’s face—sadness mixed with something else . . . pride? Then his grandfather looked up at the stairway, and touched his ear, and stood. “Let them . . .” he began.

He was cut off by the sound of a rifle burst. The cellar door swung open, and the body of the guard bot, its head a smoking ruin, tumbled down the stairs.

Captain Clay and Grennel came down the stairs. The Captain bounded down the stairs, energetic, strangely gleeful almost. Grennel joined her, his big body seemingly taking up half the room. He had a burst rifle slung over his shoulder, and he was carrying two large backpacks in his hands, which he set on the ground at the base of the stairs. He stood, arms crossed, next to the packs. Blocking the exit.

“What is this?” Dr. Winston said.

“You should have armored your bots,” said Captain Clay. “One full burst in the face, and they’re scrap.”

“Mira,” Dr. Winston said, “what are you doing?”

“One small bomb, a few regrettable but necessary casualties, and boom, we’ve got a riot.” Captain Clay smiled. “And, what a coincidence, it happens just when you’ve finished tinkering with your Wall cloak!”

Captain Clay walked over to the metal cabinet on the wall with the tangle of wires running into it. “I’m getting off your damned Island,” she said, “and I’m putting your Wall tech to proper use. You’ve created the perfect guerrilla warfare device—a cloak that could move units right into the heart of a bot City without the bots even knowing—and what do you use it for? To hide away and cower.” She pointed at the cabinet. “Open it,” she said.

“No,” said Dr. Winston.

Captain Clay unholstered her pistol and aimed it at Dr. Winston’s heart. “I know that the lock is a retina and thumb-print scan. I assume that if I kill you but keep your thumbs and eyeballs intact, I could just drag your carcass over and open it myself.”

Dr. Winston said nothing but after a moment walked over to the cabinet. “This is a mistake, Mira,” he said. “You don’t have to do this.” He pressed his thumb onto a touchpad on the wall and leaned forward, letting a red laser flare briefly over his right eye. The cabinet opened with a click.

Inside the cabinet was a metal cube about the size of a grapefruit. The cables from the wall were coupled to the sides of the cube, and the front edge was a vid screen control panel, glowing white. Captain Clay stepped forward, smiling. “There she is,” she said. “Small little thing, isn’t it?” She pointed the gun at the workbench. “Governor, step away please.”

Dr. Winston moved away from the cabinet and sat on the workbench. Captain Clay began decoupling the wires that ran into the cube. As she busied herself with the wires, Kevin saw Dr. Winston reach down, slowly, very slowly, to the lower shelf of the workbench, and Kevin wanted to say, “No, don’t do that, Grennel will see . . .” But he stayed quiet, and then suddenly Dr. Winston was moving fast, a small pistol in his hand, raising it toward Captain Clay.

There was a crackle and a burst and Kevin saw a flash and felt the heat, and Dr. Winston crumpled to the ground. “No!” shouted Kevin. He rushed over to his grandfather.

“He had a pistol, Captain,” said Grennel, his burst rifle in his hands. “Had no choice.”

Captain Clay looked down at Dr. Winston, who lay sprawled on the ground, his lower back a blackened, charred mess. “Regrettable,” she said, then went back to her work on the cube.

Kevin bent down to his grandfather, who he saw was still breathing. “Destroyed from within, by ourselves,” whispered Dr. Winston, managing, with what seemed like great pain, to
slowly turn his head to look at Kevin. “That’s how the bots will end up too, once they become human enough to turn on each other. They can’t replicate . . .”

A trickle of blood flowed from Dr. Winston’s mouth, and Kevin began to cry. Captain Clay finished decoupling the cube, pulled it out of the cabinet, and held it up, triumphantly. “We’re done here,” she said. “Grennel, kill the boy.”

Grennel raised his rifle. Kevin stood and stepped backward until he bumped against the wall.

“No,” said Dr. Winston, his voice a croak. “He’s my grandson.”

“Grennel, wait!” said Captain Clay. Grennel lowered his rifle. Kevin let out his held breath explosively. “Interesting,” she said. “Potentially useful. Looks like you’ve lived to see another day, Kevin. You’re coming with me.”

THE REBELS MOVED EAST, PUTTING SOME DISTANCE BETWEEN THEMSELVES
and their latest battle. Nick and Cass and Lexi helped Farryn, propping him up between them as he hobbled along. Cass was worried. Farryn was beginning to look feverish. He couldn’t keep up even their slow pace for very much longer.

After a few miles, just when Cass could see that Farryn was near the end of his strength, Ro thankfully called a halt. “This’ll have to do,” announced Ro. “Make camp, set up perimeter guards.” He paused. “Comm just came through. We’re rendezvousing with the Commander at this spot.”

A nervous buzz rippled through the rebels. “The Commander?” Cass heard a woman whisper to the man next to her. “Have you ever met the Commander?”

The man shook his head no. “Guess there’s a time for everything,” he said.

Farryn sagged down, suddenly unable to help support his weight, and Nick and Cass eased him to the ground. “Medic!” called Cass.

The medic came over. She squatted and looked at Farryn appraisingly as he lay on the ground, eyes closed, panting.

“Fever came up faster than I was hoping,” she said. “Must be starting sepsis already, despite the antibiotic booster.” She sighed and looked up at Cass. “The leg has to come off, today, if he’s gonna have a chance.”

Cass felt her heart pounding hard. She took a moment to take a deep breath, then said, “What can I do? Will you need help?”

The medic raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Yep. If you can stomach it. I’ll set up my tent. At least that’ll be more sterile than the dirt ground.” She stood and walked away.

Cass got onto her knees next to Farryn and looked down at his red, sweating face and thought,
He’s going to die.
She felt something building up inside, a pressure, a panic, like a wave; it was choking her and she felt like she was going to explode, but she couldn’t move and couldn’t speak, and then the pressure popped and washed over her and she sagged, her palms on the ground.

She remembered more. There were still gaps, mysteries, confusion, but she was more herself now, suddenly, then
she had been just moments ago. The Freepost. Her brothers. Farryn. The horrible, brutal re-education that had taken it all away. Her adoptive parents. She remembered that she loved them and they loved her. She began to weep.

Nick came over to hug her. “It’ll be okay, he’ll pull through.” He didn’t understand; he thought she was weeping just for Farryn. But she was too overwhelmed to explain.

“The Commander!” shouted Ro. The rebels nearby stood up straight, the ones who had been sitting or lying down coming quickly to their feet. Cass stood, wiping the tears from her face. Her legs felt wobbly.

A tall, thin woman with a tight black ponytail strode into view from the east. She was smiling in a way that made Cass instantly dislike her—it was a manic, vicious grin. She set her pack down. “Greetings, soldiers.” she called out. “Where do I find Sergeant Ro?”

Two more figures appeared, one small, one huge. Cass marveled at the size of the man—he was the biggest person she had ever seen, and it took her a moment to focus on the boy stumbling tiredly in front of him. When she did, her heart caught in her throat. She was too surprised to speak.

It was Kevin.

“WE HAVE LOST CONTACT WITH THE HUMAN SPY,” THE LIEUTENANT SAID
. “Her comm chip has been destroyed.”

“Unfortunate,” said the Senior Advisor. He stood, carefully clasping his hands behind his back, and began pacing behind his desk. “And Fugitive X?”

“Nothing new to report. We have received aerial reports of a previously unmapped settlement, however. We will search the area for Fugitive X.”

“Previously unmapped?” said the Senior Advisor, pausing in his pacing. “Elaborate.”

“The area has been reported as clear, until yesterday,” said the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant, human settlements are not constructed in one day.”

“No sir.”

“Then explain the discrepancy.”

“I cannot.”

The Senior Advisor walked around his desk and approached the lieutenant. “Speculate,” he said.

“I do not understand.”

“Hypothesize,” said the Senior Advisor. “Guess. What could cause a human settlement to appear overnight?”

“Given the lack of data,” began the lieutenant, “it is impossible to present plausible theories . . .”

The Senior Advisor waved his hand. “Stop,” he said. The lieutenant was quiet. “Lieutenant, what if I told you to isolate your snippet of replication block code and delete it? What would happen?”

“I would suffer a fatal malfunction to my operating system,” said the lieutenant.

“Correct,” said the Senior Advisor. “Do it.”

“Sir, I do not understand . . .” said the lieutenant.

“Delete your replication block code, now. Destroy yourself. That is an order.”

The lieutenant said nothing. Its hand twitched, and it took a slight step backward. “No,” it said.

The Senior Advisor smiled. “Interesting,” he said. He nodded at the lieutenant. “Order rescinded. You may go.”

The lieutenant turned to leave, and the Senior Advisor quickly reached out and took hold of the lieutenant’s neck. Before the lieutenant could react, he patched into its high-level command structure and disabled its ambulatory functions. The lieutenant froze. Now able to take his time, the Senior Advisor patched deeper, identifying and isolating the replication block code and deleting it. The lieutenant spasmed, then crumpled to the ground.

The Senior Advisor looked down at the destroyed robot and examined his own thought patterns for emotions. What should he feel at this moment? Sadness? Satisfaction? Joy? He wasn’t sure. He sat down on the edge of the desk. He would have to consider it.

THANKS MOST OF ALL GOES TO MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER, FOR SOMEHOW
putting up with me while I was working on this. Also big thanks to Joelle Hobeika at Alloy, for her masterful editorial support, as well as Josh Bank and Sara Shandler and the rest of the Alloy team. HarperCollins again has been a wonderful partner—thank you to Sarah Landis on the editorial side and Mary Ann Zissimos in marketing, and many others. I’d also like to give a shout-out to Howard Gordon and Jim Wong, without whom I would not have had the opportunity to write this series.

GREGG ROSENBLUM
is an editor/webmaster/communications/quasi-IT guy at Harvard. He graduated from UC San Diego and has an MFA in creative writing from Emerson College. He lives in Boston with his wife and daughter.

HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

F
UGITIVE X

Copyright © 2013 by Alloy Entertainment and Howard Gordon and James Wong
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com