Empire (23 page)

“Thank God!” the cop shouted. “The Army's here.”

“Sorry,” said Reuben. “It's just us two. Major Malich. Captain Coleman.”

“Sergeant Willis,” said the plainclothes guy, introducing himself.

“We need to get one of these mechs down to ground level so we
can open it up and see how it works,” said Reuben. “Unless you already know.”

“Our bullets don't even bounce off,” said Willis. “It's like they eat them and spit them back at us.”

“They can't have an infinite supply of ammunition in there,” said Cole.

“We're planning to run squad cars at them and try to trip them up,” said Willis.

“One at a time?” asked Reuben. “All from the same direction?”

Willis looked a little crestfallen. “I guess that makes us the dumb movie cops who don't know what we're doing.”

“You're not trained for war,” said Reuben. “Leave one squad car here, but have the doors open and make it look abandoned. As soon as the mech passes,
then
the driver comes out of hiding and drives out behind the thing. Meanwhile we get the other two cars coming from cross streets. Maybe it can't shoot all three at once.”

“And maybe it can.”

“Meanwhile,” said Reuben, “Cole and I will run up alongside it and try to get on top. Don't waste bullets shooting at it. Just keep it busy. And if you have a way to keep the cars driverless, that's fine with me. But with or without drivers inside, they've got to run right at the thing.”

A cop at the corner was already shouting. “It's coming!”

“With me or not?” asked Reuben.

“Better than my plan,” said Willis.

Reuben and Cole rode in different cars, back around blocks to get into position for the ambush—if you can count a bunch of third-graders jumping a grown man as an ambush. In the car, the cop who was driving was clearly scared. “The announcement they run—it says they're Americans, right?”

“By birth, maybe,” said Reuben. “They're criminals right now. Traitors. They're aiming at cops. Trying to wipe out authority.”

“Yeah, well, I don't have any weapons that'll hurt these things.”

“Maybe the car will.”

“And maybe I'll get my ass blown up.”

“You could get it shot off on a drug bust, too,” said Reuben. “But there's no point in all you guys dying to defend against an enemy you can't beat.”

“A couple of us are thinking, we should just give up.”

“Do you see any way for that thing to take a prisoner?” asked Reuben.

The guy didn't say anything.

“What I think,” said Reuben, “those things are here to kill cops. When the cops are dead, then they own the city. So once we get this sucker on the ground and take pictures and whatever piece we can carry, you guys come with us and get out of New York. Live to fight another day.”

“I got family here,” said the cop. “Brooklyn, anyway.”

“When the Army or the Marines come back in to retake the city,” said Reuben, “they'll need people who know every street and every building. We need you guys in Jersey, not dead on the streets here.”

The cop nodded. Reuben knew that having a purpose could make all the difference.

The mech must have passed by the apparently-abandoned squad car, because when it was in midblock, the car pulled into the intersection behind it. Reuben had only just reached the corner, and he could already see the thing swiveling to shoot at the car.

So he ran out into the street, pulling the pin on a grenade as he went, and threw it as close to between the mech's feet as he could, without overshooting it. The idea was to get the mech to turn back around and face this way.

It worked too well. The thing didn't just turn, it began to run, big leaping clumping steps, straight toward Reuben, firing as it went.

He ran toward the parked cars, though he knew they provided no shelter, and hit the ground. Meanwhile, he could hear the squad car behind the mech picking up speed. He also heard the cars hidden on the side street behind him gun their engines.

The mech saw the trap at once but didn't even try to dodge out of the way. It simply jumped onto the hood of one of the cars and stepped over it. The drivers braked and the collisions were minor.
But from behind them, the mech started shooting at all three cars. The drivers had their doors open at once, but before they even emerged, Reuben was running at the thing. He could see Cole coming at it from the other side.

If the mech saw them it gave no sign. Which might mean the operator knew there was nothing that two guys could do from the outside.

Reuben didn't need to say anything to Cole as each of them climbed up a leg. No vulnerabilities where the legs joined the body of the thing. How inconvenient that they hadn't provided a nice place to put a grenade that would blow it apart.

There also were no handholds to grip in order to climb around and get on top. The thing was designed for combat, and they'd anticipated the obvious moves.

It was Cole who came up with an idea. He gripped the mechanical leg tightly and swung his over to brace his feet against the leg Reuben had climbed. Reuben understood at once, and did the same, so his feet were pushing against the mechanical leg Cole was holding.

As soon as the mech started to take a step, Reuben and Cole both pushed the legs apart as hard as they could. That way its foot would come down in an unpredictable place. Everything depended on how well the software that controlled the walking process was able to respond.

The answer was—pretty well. But not well enough. It staggered and lurched, and while it took all Reuben's strength to hang on, they knew now that it was worth continuing. On the next step, they pushed again, and the machine staggered again.

And now another car—a civilian car this time—came straight for them from the side street. The mech tried to swivel toward the car, but again Cole and Reuben pressed the legs apart and its shots missed.

Since the mech was facing the car now, more or less, the car hit both legs just as Reuben and Cole were swinging down and away. They let go in time, though, hit the street and rolled.

The mech was on the ground. But it was prepared for that and
was already using a slender armlike projection from the center of the body to push itself up to its knees. Not fast enough, though. There was already a cop on top of it, and he held out an arm to Reuben to help him get up.

The hatch on the back had to be the entry point, either for a living operator or for the mechanics who worked on the machinery inside. There was a keypad that allowed entry by combination. Instead, Reuben slapped an adhesive patch on the keypad, and then stuck a grenade to the patch and pulled the pin. “Jump!” he yelled to the cop.

They both jumped.

Another car hit the mech's legs just as the grenade went off. Again it was down, and this time the entry door, which was facing straight up, had no keypad, just a hole with a bunch of broken wiring.

Inside the hole, Reuben quickly discovered, was a button that looked to him like it ought to be an emergency release. He couldn't get his finger down inside. But a pistol bullet went through the gap and into the button just fine.

Now the entry panel could be pried off, though it still wasn't easy.

One cop was standing directly over it when it came free. The explosion evaporated him.

The inside of the mech was nothing now but a mass of debris.

“Was it manned?” asked Cole.

Reuben wasn't sure he could tell. “No body parts inside,” he said. “But they might have been burnt up. Vaporized. It's big enough for a man, but maybe they use the space for ammo. That's what blew.”

Willis was at the base of the thing looking up. “Did you learn anything?”

“Something,” said Reuben. “As much as we're
going
to learn. Sergeant Willis, I want to take your guys out of this city right now.”

“Our duty is here.”

“Your duty is to guide our guys or the Marines when they come to take this city back,” said Reuben. “And that means right now your job is to stay alive and get off this island.”

Willis might have taken a long time making the decision, except that four mechs appeared at the ends of all four streets. “Shit,” he said. “They know we got their boy.”

“This way!” shouted Cole. He had already done
his
duty, which was to look for avenues of escape.

In this case, that meant running down the subway stairs at the corner.

“Cover me!” shouted one of the cops, and a couple of them started shooting at the mech coming up the street toward the subway stairs.

“There's no ‘cover me'!” yelled Reuben. “They don't care about our bullets! Just run and get down there!”

Only one man was hit on his way to the subway—hit bad enough that Reuben dragged away the cop that was trying to go back to drag the body with him.

“Are the subways running?” Reuben asked Willis.

“All stopped,” said Willis. “And all entry points to the city closed from the other side.”

“What about the third rail—powered or not?”

“I don't know,” said Willis.

“Then let's not touch it,” said Reuben. “We want to get to the Holland Tunnel,” he said. “Which way?” “The subway doesn't go there.”

“But do we go this way or that way to get to the next station? Or the one after that? Or is there some way up to the surface
not
at a station?”

“Not that I could get us into,” said Willis. “This way.”

They dropped down to the track level and ran, the emergency lighting barely illuminating the tracks enough to see where to plant their feet.

Reuben pulled out his cellphone. No bars. “Am I getting no signal because I'm below ground, or because the signals are jammed?”

“We've got cellular all the way through the subways,” said Willis. “So it's jammed.”

“Too bad,” said Reuben. “I was going to call in air support.”

“I can't believe they're not already here.”

“The Air Force may not know yet. It's what, six-thirty in the morning? If nobody in New York can call out, has it even been reported?”

“You can't keep something like this a secret!” said Willis.

“Not forever. But for an hour, maybe you can.”

They came to another station. “No,” said Reuben. “They'll be waiting at this one. They can move at least as fast above as we can down here. Keep going.”

They went on to the next. And the next. Now they were beyond the Holland Tunnel. They'd have to backtrack.

They ran up the stairs to the surface and immediately ran for a side street so they were out of the view of the avenues. They were lucky. No mechs in place to observe them.

“If they had five hundred of these things,” Reuben said to Cole, “they could scan the whole city. They don't have that many. Not even close.”

“I'm not surprised,” said Cole. “What do you think it takes to build one of those? Two million? Six?”

“Real costs or Pentagon costs?” asked Reuben.

“Microsoft costs.”

“These are not a Microsoft product,” said Reuben.

“Developed in secret, though.”

“Yeah, but they don't lock up.”

Willis knew the objective and he knew the streets. He'd never been a soldier, but he was a commander, and a good one. His men followed him without argument. So did Reuben and Cole. You follow the guy who knows what he's doing.

When they got to a bunch of concrete barriers near the entrance to the tunnel, that stopped being Willis and started being Reuben and Cole.

There were no mechs guarding access to the tunnel. But there were a half-dozen men in space-suit uniforms. Helmets that covered their whole heads, even their faces.

“I bet those helmets are transparent from their side,” said Cole.

“With a heads-up display and automatic targeting and heat-source tracking,” said Reuben.

“And Tetris,” said Cole.

“Got to kill these guys,” said Reuben. They had no way to deal with prisoners. They needed stealth. “Except maybe the last one, for interrogation.”

“Body armor for sure.”

“Which I bet their own weapons can pierce.”

“They only have to be able to pierce
ours
.”

“Let's not make these guys into supermen. Armor's heavy and hot. If it's really secure, with no gaps, these guys are dead on a hot June day like this is gonna be.” Reuben pointed toward one. “Yours. Try not to make a lot of noise.”

“They're probably transmitting to each other constantly,” said Cole.

“So . . . not even a gurgle,” said Reuben.

It was a matter of stealth. And stealth meant patience as well as silence. No sudden movements that would catch the peripheral vision of any enemy soldier who had them even slightly in his field of view.

He tried to imagine who might be inside those suits. New guys who had never fought before? Or vets from the Middle East, fed up with the government and eager to use their training to overthrow it? Was he going to face some X-Box geek from Seattle or a killing machine from Fort Bragg?

Something in between. He had instant reflexes—the moment he felt Reuben's hands on him, he started to move. But he hadn't spotted Reuben coming. A killing-machine soldier would never have left so much of his field of view unattended for so long.

Because by the time Reuben's hands were on him, it was already too late for the guy. He turned to the right, so Reuben turned his head sharply to the left and he dropped like a rock.

But inside that helmet, he might have said, “Hey.” Or something.

Or maybe not. Because the other guys didn't show any alarm. Cole also got his man silently.

Not so lucky with the next guy. Reuben didn't know whether it was his guy or Cole's who gave the alarm, or maybe just a chance observation, but nobody was standing still to get their neck broken. But they weren't shooting yet, either. Reuben still needed a silent weapon. The Uniball pen he always carried.