Time Was (47 page)

The IA–2112 models were rumored to be at least twice the size of a normal mining robot.

Those rushing at the gates were easily
eight
times that size; nineteen feet from the bottoms of their feet to the tops of their heads.

That is, while on all fours and running.

Standing straight up, the things had to be at least thirty feet in height.

Most of the tower guards got the same idea at roughly the same moment.

Time to go . . .

Making certain that the guards in the towers nearest him were vacating their posts, Singer readied the first of several mini-ShellBlasters he'd found among the I-Bots' arsenal.

He focused on the closest tower, watching as the guards threw open the trap door and started running down the stairs.

He waited until they were just past the halfway point, well out of danger, and set the ShellBlaster on his shoulder, took aim, and fired.

The rocket slammed into the top of the tower at the same time the magnified image of the IA–2112 reached the area.

The tower went up in a mushroom of fire, smoke, and metal.

To anyone watching from a distance, it would have appeared that the giant IA–2112 had rammed the tower and blown up.

Singer tossed aside the empty ShellBlaster, checked to make sure the escaping guards were unharmed-—they were—then grabbed up an armful of the rocket launchers and ran for the next tower.

The IA–2112 holo ought to be reaching it anytime now. . . .

The phone buzzed again and Preston grabbed the receiver.

“Sir, this is Control again. We have reports of oversized IA–2112 model robots destroying security towers.”

“Can you confirm this?”

“Yes, sir. They're big mothers.”

Preston rubbed his eyes, glared at Annabelle, then sighed. “All right, then, we don't have much of a choice: Sound the evacuation signal and unlock all underground entrances. I want you to remain at your post, along with any guards whose towers have been reduced to rubble.”

He didn't wait for a response.

Annabelle was standing right in front of him.

Preston looked up at her and was amazed by her face.

Usually your One Great Love doesn't look a thing like you remember.

Annabelle looked even more beautiful than he'd recalled.

“Hello, Sam,” she whispered.

Even she was unable to hide the pity in her eyes.

“Do I look that bad?” asked Preston.

“. . . yes . . .” she said softly, then touched his cheek.

Preston couldn't help it.

He leaned forward, pressing his face into her midsection and wrapping his arms around her.

“I'm so scared, Annabelle.”

“Shhh,” she said, stroking the back of his head. “It's all right now, I'm here, I'll take care of everything. You don't need to—”

She froze.

Preston could feel her body tense.

“What the
hell
is happening here?” she said.

Preston pulled back and looked at her.

Her face was so cold, her eyes even colder.

She was looking through the glass partition at the computer and the platinum-iridium brain installed in the center of everything.

Preston began to look at it, also, not really thinking about it—he'd seen it enough times—but then he caught a quick glimpse of what had Annabelle so mesmerized; a little thing, really, something Preston had seen every day for five years and so didn't really think about it, didn't actually
see
it, any longer.

A label.

That's all.

Just one of those little stick-on plastic name gizmos that you make with a handheld label-maker.

No big thing, really.

Until now, that is.

His gaze locked on it like that of a condemned man locking on the rifles held by the members of a firing squad.

All over, all gone, bye-bye
, he thought, reaching over to touch the label.

The little one that was no Big Thing, really.

The little one he never thought about.

The little one with
ROY
printed on it. . . .

It wasn't until Psy–4 was about to throw himself headlong into the figure that Radiant caught a surge of familiar energy emanating toward her and called out, “Zac!”

He moved just in time.

Psy–4, trapped by his own momentum and unable to stop his charge, blew past Zac and slammed headfirst into a section of the wall, burying himself up to the shoulders.

Zac fell back against the door and slid to the floor. “
That
had to hurt.”

“. . . oh, yeah . . .” whispered Psy–4 from somewhere deep in the plaster.

Radiant ran over to Zac, dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around him as best she could, considering the cast. “Oh, Zac, we were all so worried that Preston had . . . had . . .”

“It's okay,” he whispered to her. “Now, what say we round up the others and get out of here before—”

“There's something you need to know,” said Psy–4, pulling himself from the wall and shaking off the dust, plaster, and chunks of drywall.

Zac grinned a pained grin. “Let me guess—does it have something to do with my birthday present?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Radiant, then at Psy–4. “I am all at attention.”

Psy–4 cleared his throat and began to explain about Roy.

Of course, Zac would have to settle for the Reader's Digest Condensed version, seeing as how they had less than fifty-eight minutes left. . . .

* * *

The employees of PTSI, having heard the emergency evacuation signal, headed en masse for the underground shelters, only to find, as the huge, electronically controlled iron doors swung open, that there were
things
waiting for them inside.

Each of the twelve underground shelters contained an underground vent for air.

These vents either crisscrossed or passed directly through other, larger vents.

Including a large cement sewer drain.

The robots who'd been hiding under the IPS, Inc., building had wound their subterranean way through the tunnels to emerge, as planned, into the emergency shelters of PTSI.

The evacuating employees, their nerves already frazzled by the explosions and panic outside the walls, screamed at the sight of the robots emerging from the depths, turned tail, and ran blindly through the corridors and offices, smashing windows and overturning furniture, anything at all to either get out of the building or lay hands on something to serve as a weapon. . . .

Itazura, Killaine, and Stonewall smashed through the doors of Preston's office, StunShooters at the ready.

The place was not empty, but it had been seriously trashed.

They saw the scattered papers.

The knocked-over furniture.

The IV stand.

The safe and empty syringes.

And the bloodstains on the sofa and floor.

“He was here,” said Killaine. “Zac was in here—recently.”

“How can you tell?” asked Itazura.

“Is that or is that not Old Spice I smell?”

“Gotcha.”

Then Stonewall spotted the hidden door behind the monitors. “If no one's got any better ideas, I say we try it.”

Itazura and Killaine were already heading down the spiral staircase before he'd finished saying “try.”

Stonewall was right behind them, pulling the bank of monitors back in place behind him. . . .

Singer just finished blowing up the fifth guard tower—which, to all witnesses, appeared to be the work of an out-of-control, oversized IA–2112—and was just returning to check the HIR unit when he saw a crowd of shadows pass through one of the distant, smoky security lights.

He remained very still, focusing his photoelectric eyes and activating their zoom lenses.

Another rush of shadows.

And this time he saw one of them clearly.

Stompers.

Heavily armed.

He looked down at the HIR unit, activated the remaining images, and was readying to head into the compound when his leg scraped against something. . . .

“So where's the portable chamber?” asked Zac.

Psy–4 looked at Radiant, who shook her head and said, “I was too anxious about Zac and didn't think to—”

“Dammit!”
hissed Psy–4, smashing his fist into another section of the wall and burying his arm up to the elbow. “Dammit to hell!
How
could I have made such a
stupid
mistake?”

Radiant came over and put her hands on his shoulders. “A lot was happening very quickly and all of us were worried about Zac.”

“But—”

“No buts; we didn't know if he was still alive.”

Psy–4 yanked his arm from the wall, whirled around, and grabbed Radiant by the shoulders.
“That's no excuse! There is no excuse for a mistake of this magnitude!”

Radiant placed a hand against Psy–4's chest, punching a hole in his anxiety and calming him slightly. “We've still got a way to buy a little time.”

“What?”

She produced a palmtop computer from her supply pouch. “The Catherine Wheel program.”

Zac's head snapped up.
“You didn 't? ”

“We had to,” whispered Psy–4. “We needed to make sure that everything was in complete and total anarchy before we made our move to disconnect Roy from the mainframe.”

Zac glared at the two of them “Why didn't you come to me? I would have understood.”

“We thought you didn't need anything more to worry about,” replied Radiant.

“I'm a big boy, Radiant. From now on, let me be the judge of what I can and cannot deal with, or else—oh, screw it! We'll settle this later.” He grabbed the palmtop from Radiant's hands. “I assume, Psy–4, that you preset the initiation time?”

“Yes, but—”

“Shut up,” snapped Zac. “I'm also assuming that
this
”—he held up the palmtop—“is programmed with an override sequence in case the need arose to activate the program before its preset time? You'd damn well better say yes.”

“Yes.”

Zac nodded his head. “Good thinking. Give me everything but the last three numbers.”

Psy–4 rattled off the sequence, stopping where Zac had ordered.

Zac entered the sequence, then looked at Radiant. “Can you go back and get the portable chamber?”

“Absolutely.”

Zac looked at his watch. “Fifty-two minutes. Which means that the fifteen-minute window of opportunity—”

“—on either side,” said Psy–4.

“—on either side is . . . shit—
twenty-two
minutes away, allowing time to set up.” Zac looked at Radiant. “You waiting for a good-bye kiss? Go!”

She gave him a quick salute. “Aye-aye, sir!”

And took off at roughly the same time Itazura, Killaine, and Stonewall emerged from the hidden door behind Zac.

Zac whirled around and faced them. “About time.”

They were momentarily too stunned to respond.

“Happy to see you, too,” said Zac, smiling. “Sorry, but we don't have time for a warm and fuzzy reunion. Killaine, I want you to—first of all, how are you doing?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Good. Radiant's on her way to retrieve the portable chamber. Go after her and run interference in case someone tries to stop her. You up to that?”

Killaine's answer was a quick kiss on Zac's cheek, then she was gone—a blur and a memory.

“Itzy,” barked Zac. “Get outside and secure some sort of vehicle for us—I don't give a damn if it's a Jeep, a chopper, or a bunch of Schwinn ten-speeds; get
something
”

“But the vans are parked just outside the compound,” Itazura responded.

“Repeat what you just said.”

“The vans are parked just outside the—oh.”

Zac nodded. “Right. The vans aren't going to do us a whole helluva lot of good
outside
the compound, are they? We have to
get to them
first!”

Itazura shrugged in embarrassment. “Silly me.”

Then he became a blur and a memory.

“Stoner,” snapped Zac.

“Yessir?”

“Come over here and stand behind me.”

Stonewall did as he was instructed. “Now what?”

“Catch me, buddy; I'm getting dizzy.”

Zac collapsed into Stonewall's arms, conscious but momentarily disoriented. . . .

“Control, this is Security Kiosk Nine, we need Tower Personnel to confirm a visual.”

“Kiosk Nine, why haven't you abandoned your post? The evacuation alarm has been sounding for several minutes.”

“Control, are there
any
Tower Personnel still at their post? We
really
need a second visual confirmation on this.”

“Control, this is West Tower Six, McPherson speaking, over.”

“McPherson, can you confirm whatever in the hell it is that Security Kiosk Nine is seeing?”

“Affirmative, Control, over.”

“Well?”

“Security Kiosk Nine appears to be under siege by about a dozen Godzillas, over.”

Silence.

“West Tower Six, this is Control. Would you say that again?”

“Yes, Control; Security Kiosk Nine is surrounded by several Godzillas.”

“Godzillas?”

“Several of them, Control, yes.”

“Godzilla—as in Tokyo, Mothra, Ghidrah, Rodan, and
vs. The Smog Monster?
”

“That would be the one, Control.”

“West Tower Six, do me a favor, shoot a rocket at them and see what happens.”

“Affirmative.” Then, several seconds later: “Went right through them, Control.”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“They appear to be holographic images being broadcast from an unknown source.”

“So what you're telling me, McPherson, is that someone has been playing a large-scale practical joke on us?”