Counterattack (12 page)

Laser shots? This was the purpose of the tubes at the end of my extra arms?

I lifted one arm and pointed at the ceiling. I thought out a mental command.
Fire?

Nothing happened.

I tried another mental command.
Shoot?

Nothing.

Kill?

It fired. A weird buzzing sound came from my extended arm. My infrared picked up a hot laser that left a tight red glowing circle in the ceiling.

I was shooting!

“Twenty seconds! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

As I began to orient myself and focus better, I saw that the laser beams were going through those human forms, like dozens of blindingly fast arrows zinging through the smoke.

Kill? As in kill people?

Robots spun and circled in all directions. The human shapes ran or crouched or fell. More laser beams. More targets pierced. But where were the screams of dying people?

“Kill! Kill! Kill!”

I scanned with my infrared again. There were only two remaining human figures. One pushed against the far wall, as if it were trying to claw its way out of danger. The other collapsed as I watched.

“Thirty seconds! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

It seemed as if all the robots turned their attention to the red glow of that final human shape against the far wall. Dozens of laser beams zipped toward the upper body, and instantly the shape fell.

“Thirty-three seconds! And stop! Back to visuals.”

A giant whoosh began to roar.

I unblinkered my video lenses. I saw fans in the ceiling sucking away the smoke.

As the smoke lifted and the bare walls of the warehouse began to appear beyond the other robots, I looked for all the bodies of the humans who had been shot with laser beams.

Nothing.

Where were the bodies?

I had no time to wonder.

A door opened on the far wall, and a man in a soldier's uniform appeared. “Thirty-three seconds! You are bumbling, pathetic fools!” he shouted through pale, thin lips. He had short blond hair, and his arm and shoulder muscles looked like small, smooth boulders under the tightness of his clothing. His thick neck bulged with veins. “Your opponents were totally blind. And you took over half a minute to kill them.”

Kill them? But where were they?

“And you! Number 17!” He strode toward my robot body, pointing a flashlight in his right hand at me. Stopping in front of me, he slapped the flashlight in the open palm of his left hand. “Look above you. Two ceiling holes! Do you think the human soldiers are going to fly to get away?”

I tilted my video lenses up to where he pointed. Little wisps of smoke curled from where I had fired.

“Those were the only two shots you fired.” Lifting his cold gray eyes off my robot body, he looked around. “All of you! Each shot you take is monitored by computer. We see exactly what you do.”

He directed his next words back to me. “What, you were trying to be merciful? To simulated computer targets?”

I didn't answer. I didn't trust my robot voice to not reveal who I really was—an enemy infiltrator, not the scared kid this man thought he was controlling. I was just glad my actual body was thousands of miles from this terrifying giant.

“When the time comes to kill, you
will
kill! Hear me? Or you will be killed! One flick of a computer switch and your death chip will be activated. Understand?”

He wasn't asking as if he expected an answer. It was a direct command.

“All of you!” he roared to the other robots. “Let Number 17 be an example.”

He lifted the flashlight high, like he was going to hit me with it. I almost backed away. Then he lowered it and smiled. “Sweet dreams.”

He touched the robot's body stem lightly with the flashlight. That's when I discovered it wasn't a flashlight.

I heard myself scream as an electrical shock ripped through my consciousness.

And I fell into a darkness far blacker than any room filled with smoke.

CHAPTER 2

I woke up seeing the world around me through my own eyes, not the video lenses of a robot. The jolt had disconnected me from the robot body. I now sat in my wheelchair, nowhere near the death-training warehouse or the robot body that had just been delivering information to my brain. The bot-pack was still plugged in to my spine.

What I saw was another windowless room, filled with large, clear cylinders that contained a dark jelly. Two of these 23 cylinders were empty except for the dark jelly. But each of the other cylinders held one kid about my age, with the dark jelly holding them in place. Wires and tubes ran from the ceiling down into the jelly cylinders, connecting to the skulls and arms of each kid. Other tubes removed their body wastes. Only their heads appeared above the jelly. Although their eyes and ears were covered with contoured wax, these kids weren't dead. Only unconscious to the activities around them in this room.

All of them were trapped. Permanently. In 24-hour-a-day life-support systems.

These were the kids running the soldier robots. The kids who had been ordered to kill, kill, kill!

“Stun rod,” I said. My words came out as a croak. And my head hurt like it had been sent spinning with a whack from the blunt edge of an ax. I didn't even want to think about how many other times I'd been shocked out of robot contact. Rawling McTigre, my friend on Mars and the director of the Mars Project, had promised that low-level shocks like this wouldn't do any permanent damage.

“Stun rod?” Two anxious faces peered down at me.

“Stun rod.” Because I'd been born on Mars and had recently arrived on Earth, I could only guess from memories of all the DVD-gigaroms I'd watched growing up there. “I'm pretty sure that's what happened. He zapped me with a stun rod.”

“He? Tyce, who is this ‘he' who zapped you?” This question came from the man's face closest to me. It was still out of focus since my head had not stopped its spinning sensation. But I had just traveled with this man for four days. Nate. Nicknamed Wild Man by his platoon buddies in the Combat Force of the World United Federation. I knew what his face would look like when my vision cleared.

“He. Big he. Mean he. That's all I know about he.” I grinned at Nate, even though the extra movement hurt my face. “Am I making sense yet?”

“Why were you zapped? What was happening … ?” The other face belonged to General Jeb McNamee. Cannon.

“What was happening on the other side?” I finished for Cannon. One of the top-ranking generals in the Combat Force, he was on this secret mission with us.

Even though the general was up-to-date with all military technology, robot control seemed completely new to him. I think he was still trying to grasp the concept—and its potential. It was almost like he was still in disbelief that my brain waves could be converted into digital signals that bounced off an orbiting satellite into a robot's computer system. I could understand. I'd only found out I had the capability less than a year ago, on Mars.

“Training exercise. At least I think it was. They filled a room with smoke and made all the robots switch to infrared. The targets were …” I paused, struggling to make sense of what I'd seen. “The targets must have been simulated by a computer. They were human shaped. With human temperatures. He wanted us to kill them as fast as possible. He was angry it took over 30 seconds.”

“What kind of weapons?” Nate demanded.

“How many targets?” Cannon insisted.

I understood their urgency. These were military men. Their job was to stop what was happening on the other side. Only they didn't know exactly where the other side was. Or the real goal of training robot soldiers. Trouble was, neither did I.

“I was in for less than a minute,” I reminded them. “And I need to get back or—”

A third voice interrupted me. “—or
I'm
dead.”

This voice came from Joey, a kid my age. Wrapped in a blanket, he sat on the floor just beyond Nate and Cannon. Ten minutes earlier, he, too, had been suspended on life support in one of the jelly tubes. We had taken him out of the jelly tube and revived him so I could hook myself up to his robot controls and see what was happening through his robot's eyes.

Joey didn't have to remind me why he'd be dead. Somewhere in his body was the death chip that the giant on the other side had threatened to activate. We didn't know how it worked yet—only that if the kids in the jelly tubes disobeyed their orders, they'd be killed.

“Go back,” Joey pleaded. “Please. If Stronsky zapped you, he'll expect you to recover any time now.”

Joey pointed at another kid pacing the room at the side of my wheelchair. That was Michael. We had taken him out of a jelly tube too so Ashley could handle his robot. She was now hooked to a bot-pack and sat quietly against the wall, blindfolded so she could totally concentrate on her robot control.

Joey continued. “While you're under, Mike and I will answer as many questions for these guys as possible. But if Stronsky finds out you've replaced me …” He lost his voice to his fear.

I understood. If Stronsky—apparently the name of the giant—found out that two of the robots under his control were handled by Ashley and me, he'd activate both Michael's and Joey's death chips. And we would lose any chance of discovering the mission for the robot army. Which meant that those unknown human targets would also die.

“I'm ready to go back,” I said. My head still hurt badly, but I had no choice.

“We'll learn what we can here,” Cannon said. “You've got to find out what's happening there.”

I nodded in return. To prepare for my robot control, I pulled my blindfold down and covered my ears with a soundproof headset.

In total darkness and total silence, I waited for Cannon to reset my bot-pack so I could reconnect with the soldier robot that waited on the other side.

The familiar sensation hit me. As if I were falling off an endless cliff in complete blackness. This was how it always began with robot control. Except this time I had no idea how it would end.

Or if I would make it back.

CHAPTER 3

I emerged out of the darkness to light and sound.

“How was your return to the jelly cylinder, Number 17?” Stronsky growled as the video lenses of my robot opened.

What I saw first were the yellowing teeth of the giant man's wide snarl as he leaned over my robot body. What I heard was the deep rasp of his loud voice.

“Did you like that sensation?” Stronsky shouted. He didn't ask as if he wanted an answer from me. I think he wanted the other robots to hear. They were lined up beside me, so that we formed two rows.

“Did you like finding yourself in jelly up to your neck?” he continued. “Did you like feeling all those tubes in your body? Remember, your body is trapped there. We'll leave it there forever, unless you successfully complete this mission. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a jelly cylinder? Do I need to remind you that the system there will support you for 70 years? That's a long time to be stuck staring at a wall.”

I knew exactly what he meant. If the life support was automatic—run by a computer—the kids in the jelly tubes would be stuck until they died of old age. And if the computer failed, they would be stuck until they starved to death. Either way, it wasn't good.

“If you don't shape up, you'll get zapped again!” Stronsky yelled at me. He was so worked up that spit flew from his mouth. “Again and again!” He looked up and down the rows of the other robots. “Is that clear to all of you? We have a mission to accomplish, and I want 100 percent effort! You saw what happened to Number 17. I'll do it to any of you at any time. Understand?”

Stronsky's words died to silence in the large, empty warehouse.

Every kid understood. Being trapped for life in a jelly tube was too awful to even think about.

In the quiet, one robot rolled forward, away from the others.

“Who are the targets?” this robot asked. Although the robot speakers somewhat disguised the controller's voice, making it sound tinny and mechanical, I wondered if the speaker was Ashley.

Because Stronsky was directly in front of me, I saw his reaction up close. His eyes widened, his nostrils flared with a quick intake of breath, and then he snorted his anger in shocked disbelief that someone might dare question him.

A moment later the anger faded as pleasure spread across his face. “Number 23,” he said softly, “did I hear you right?”

His voice grew louder as he slowly spun in 23's direction. “Did I hear you right? Did I hear you actually ask about our targets? Even after I disciplined Number 8 this morning for asking the same question? How stupid are you?”

It could be no other person than Ashley. She, like me, had not been here earlier to hear the morning's instructions. She, like me, wanted to know the targets so we could get that information back to Nate and Cannon.

“How stupid are you?” he repeated. He slapped his stun gun against his palm as he walked purposefully toward 23. “Stupid enough to wonder what I'm going to do to you now? Let's see if you like a shock as much as 17. Let's see if you like five minutes back in the jelly tube.”

Not to Ashley,
I thought.
I won't let him.

I lifted the robot arm and aimed the laser tube at Stronsky. All I wanted to do was hit the stun gun in his hand. With luck, he wouldn't know which robot the shot came from.

All I had to do was think the word
kill
and …

I watched closely, waiting for a clear shot.

Here … it … was … and …
kill!

Nothing.

I tried it again.
Kill!
I thought.

Still nothing.

Shoot,
I commanded.
Fire. Bang.

Nothing. Nothing. And nothing.

Another robot arm reached out and yanked my laser tube down.

“Are you crazy?” the robot voice whispered. “You know that the lasers only fire when they've put in their computer code.” This was Number 12. All of the robots had bright red numbers on their body stems.