The Storm (11 page)

“Go in closer,” Kurt said.

Looking concerned, Marchetti took a seat at the terminal. Using the mouse and the keyboard, he zoomed in. One of the spiders appeared to be moving.

“This just can’t be,” Marchetti mumbled.

“Look familiar?”

“Like long-lost children,” Marchetti said. “Identical to my design, except …”

“Except what?”

“Except they can’t be mine.”

“Here we go,” Kurt said, waiting for all the denials and talk of preventative measures that should have worked. “Why not?” he asked. “Why can’t they be yours?”

“Because I never made any.”

Kurt hadn’t expected that.

“They’re moving,” Leilani noted, pointing to the screen.

Marchetti turned and magnified the screen again. “They’re feeding.”

“What do you mean they’re feeding? Feeding on what?”

Marchetti scratched his head, then zoomed in again. “Small organic proteins,” he said.

“Why would a tiny robot want to eat an organic molecule?”

“Because it’s hungry,” Marchetti said. He turned from the machine.

“Forgive me for asking, but why would a robot be hungry?” Kurt added.

“Here, on my island,” Marchetti explained, “the larger robots get to plug in. But if you’re going to make bots that are independent, they have to be able to power up one way or another. These little guys have several options. Those lines on their backs that look like microchips are actually tiny solar collectors. But because the independent bot has other needs, they have to be able to get sustenance from the surrounding environment. If these microbots follow my design, they should be able to absorb organic nutrients from the seawater and break them down. They should also be able to process dissolved metals and plastics and other things found in the sea, both to sustain themselves and reproduce.”

“This conversation is going from bad to worse,” Kurt said. “Explain how they reproduce. And I don’t need a lesson on the birds and the bees. I’ve just never heard of it in regards to a machine.”

“Procreation of the bot is a fundamental need if you want it to do anything useful.”

Kurt took a deep breath. At least they were getting answers even if he didn’t like the details. “And just what useful purpose did you design these things for?”

“My original concept was to use them as a weapon against seaborne pollution,” Marchetti began.

“They eat pollution,” Kurt guessed.

“Not just eat it,” Marchetti said, “they turn it into a resource. Look at it this way. There’s so much pollution out there, the sea is literally choking on it. The problem is, even in places like the Pacific Garbage Patch, the stuff is too spread out to be economically cleared up. Unless the instrument that’s doing the clearing feeds off what it clears, turning the garbage itself into a power source that enables the cleanup.”

He waved toward the screen. “To accomplish that, I designed a self-sustaining, self-replicating microbot that could live in the seawater, float around until it found some plastic or other garbage and chow down once it did. As soon as these things find a food source, they use the by-products and the metals in the seawater to copy themselves. Voilà!—reproduction—without all the fun parts.”

Kurt had always been baffled by the world’s collective unwillingness to do anything about the pollution being poured into the marine environment. The world’s oceans created three-quarters of its oxygen, a third of its food. Yet the polluters acted as if this was a trifle. And until there was nothing left to fish, or no one could breathe, it was doubtful anyone would do anything about it because it just wasn’t economical.

In a bizarre way, there was a certain elegance to Marchetti’s solution. Since no one wanted to do anything about the problem, he’d proposed a way to fix it without anyone actually having to lift a finger.

Joe seemed to agree. “There’s some brilliance in that.”

“There’s also insanity,” Kurt said.

“You’d be surprised how often those traits coincide,” Marchetti said. “But the real insanity is doing nothing. Or dumping billions of tons of plastic and trash into the thing that feeds half the planet. Could you imagine the vociferous outcry, the wailing of epic proportions, if the amber waves of grain were choked with cigarette lighters, plastic bottles, monofilament line and broken bits of children’s toys? That’s what we’re doing to the oceans. And it’s only getting worse.”

“I don’t disagree,” Kurt said. “But turning some self-replicating machine loose in the sea and just hoping it all works out isn’t exactly a rational response.”

Marchetti sat back down, he seemed to agree. “No one else thought so either. So like I said, we didn’t produce any.”

“Then how did these things get on my brother’s boat?” Leilani asked bluntly.

Kurt watched Marchetti, waiting for an answer, but he didn’t reply. His gaze was locked onto Leilani. Fear flickered in his eyes. Kurt turned and he saw why.

Leilani held a compact snub-nosed automatic in her hands. The muzzle was pointed directly at the center of Marchetti’s chest.

CHAPTER 12

“I SWEAR,” MARCHETTI SAID, PUTTING HIS HANDS UP INSTINCTIVELY, “I don’t know how they got on your brother’s boat.”

Kurt stepped in between Leilani and the billionaire. “Put the gun down.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he’s our only link to the truth,” Kurt said. “You kill him, you’ll never know what happened. And as sad as it sounds, I’ll make sure you end up in prison for it.”

“But he built these machines,” she said. “He admitted it. We don’t need to go any further.”

Kurt looked her in the eyes. He hoped to see fear, doubt, and nerves, but he saw only coldness and anger.

“Get out of the way, Kurt.”

“Tired of being alone,” he said, repeating her words from the night at the hotel. “You pull that trigger, you’ll be more alone than you can possibly imagine.”

“He killed my brother, and if he’s not going to tell us why, I’m going to even the score,” she said. “Now please, get out of my way.”

Kurt didn’t budge.

“Listen,” Marchetti said nervously, “I didn’t have anything to do with your brother’s death. But maybe I can help you find out who did.”

“How?” Kurt asked.

“By tracking down those with knowledge, those with an understanding of the process,” Marchetti offered. “Obviously you don’t just pick up a screwdriver and a soldering gun and put these things together, it’s an extremely complicated endeavor. Someone connected with the initial design had to be involved.”

As Marchetti spoke, Joe began circling in behind Leilani as quiet as a cat. “Keep talking, Marchetti,” Kurt said.

“There might be nine or ten people who know major parts of the system,” he stammered, “but only one guy knows as much as I do. His name is Otero—and he’s right here on the island.”

“He’s lying!” Leilani said. “He’s just trying to blame someone else.”

As Leilani ranted, Joe pounced. He knocked the gun away and grabbed her arm, twisting it up behind her back in a half nelson.

A loud bang rang out, and for a second Kurt thought the pistol had discharged. “Everyone all right?”

Marchetti nodded, Joe did the same, Leilani appeared upset but unharmed.

“What was that noise?” Kurt asked.

No one knew, but when another clanking sound reached them Kurt caught sight of movement in the back of the darkened lab. The acrid smell of electrical discharges came next. The welding robots had become active. They were standing up on their feet, knocking items out of their way and discharging blue arcs of plasma from their appendages.

Kurt turned to Marchetti. “Let me guess,” he said, “Otero’s your master programmer.”

Marchetti nodded.

“I have a feeling he’s been watching.”

The welding robots began moving toward the humans. Two of them had small tracks like a tank’s to roll on. A third had clawlike feet that were scraping on the metal deck.

Joe released Leilani. She turned to Kurt, apologizing.

“I’m so sorry, I just—”

“Save it,” Kurt said, his eyes on the menacing machines.

Marchetti raced for the bulkhead door. He twisted and pulled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Watch out,” Joe shouted.

One of the machines had begun to zero in on Marchetti. It charged forward on its tracks with one appendage reaching for him and a second arm spouting blazing white plasma.

Marchetti ducked and scampered to a new spot. The machine tracked him and began to close in again.

Kurt looked for the gun and spotted it across the room. Before he could move, a fourth machine came alive and stepped in his path.

He backed up, putting the couch between him and the walking machine. Joe and Leilani retreated as well.

“How do they operate?” Kurt shouted as one of the robots reached the table and carved it in two with a circular saw.

“Either autonomously or guided from a remote site,” Marchetti said. “They have pinhole cameras for eyes.”

The machines lumbered toward them like sleepy animals. Each time they reached something solid, their actuators spun and their claws extended. A chair was flung out of the way, a couch set on fire with the welding torches.

Kurt noticed that their movements were odd, only one machine at a time seemed to do anything out of the ordinary. “Could Otero be at that remote site right now?”

Marchetti nodded. Kurt turned to Joe. “Now would be a good time for a suggestion.”

“I’d say, let’s pull the plug,” Joe replied, “but I’m guessing they have batteries.”

With that, he grabbed a chair and hurled it at the closest robot. It caromed off the lumbering machine, rocking it backward a bit, but other than that it seemed to have no effect.

By now Kurt had been forced closer to where Marchetti stood. Joe and Leilani held a different spot. But the machines, or Otero, seemed intent on herding them together.

Kurt made a break to the right, but a blast from a welding torch stopped him. He went the other way, relying on his quickness.

The machine pivoted and released another blinding flash of plasma, but Kurt was already inside the machine’s reach. He felt the heat singe his back but not directly. He grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on and yanked until it broke off. Then he found another protrusion that looked like a camera and bashed it sideways.

The welding torch flared out over his shoulder again, and some other arm began to move.

“Do these things have an off switch?” he shouted.

“No,” Marchetti said. “I couldn’t imagine wanting to shut them off manually.”

“I’m guessing you can imagine it now.”

Kurt reached for what looked like a trio of hydraulic lines only to receive a blow to the chest that sent him flying off the machine. Some type of hammer used to drive rivets had extended and struck him in the ribs.

He landed on his back, only to see a saw blade dropping toward him from a second machine. He rolled out of the way and ended up against the huge circular window, beyond which the turquoise hue of the sea loomed.

Marchetti was there as well, and Joe and Leilani had been successfully herded into the same general vicinity.

“I have an idea,” Kurt said.

He lunged for the same machine he’d just been on, careful to avoid the appendages. The torch flashed again, almost blinding him. The hydraulic hammer came out again, but Kurt twisted his body to avoid it.

The machine lumbered forward with Kurt clinging to it. It pushed him back, banging him against the window like the captain of a football team might bang a geeky freshmen against a locker. The torch flashed again, carving a line in the acrylic window. A second swipe left another scar.

Kurt tried to push the machine back, but it shoved him against the window. He felt like his ribs were cracking from the pressure.

“I hope … these things … aren’t waterproof,” he managed.

He reached for the hydraulic lines again. Right on schedule, the battering ram of a hammer fired just as it had before. But with Kurt’s body twisted out of the way, it slammed into the huge oval window.

The eerie sound of cracks traveling through the acrylic caught everyone’s attention. They turned just as the window, designed convexly with all its strength focused outwards, failed from the inside.

The water blasted in like a crashing wave, hitting everyone and everything at once. It swept the people, the furniture, and the machines across the room, slamming all into the far wall.

Kurt felt several jarring collisions and struggled to free himself from the welder. Even as he got loose, the swirling water pinned him against the wall and held him down like a vicious wave might trap a surfer. He pushed off the floor with one foot and broke the surface.

Foam and debris were being blasted about by the gushing water. Kurt felt himself being pushed up by the rising flood as the room filled with liquid. As he neared the ceiling, the trapped air slowed the process, but it must have been leaking out somewhere because the space was collapsing.

Kurt looked around. Joe was there, holding Marchetti with one hand and clinging to the wall with the other.

Leilani popped up and grabbed ahold of a pipe that ran along the ceiling, which was now easily within reach.

“Any sign of the robots?”

“I never taught them to swim,” Marchetti said.

“First thing you’ve done right,” Kurt told him. “How far down are we?”

“Twenty feet.”

“We have to swim out.”

“I can make it,” Marchetti said, coughing as if he’d swallowed half a gallon of water.

“Leilani?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Okay. Get rid of your shoes,” he said, then, turning to Marchetti, added, “and lose that stupid robe. Not only will it drown you, it’s been giving me a headache since the moment I got here.”

They undid their shoes and pulled them off, Marchetti shed the wet robe, and they swam to the gaping hole where the window had been.

Before they went under to swim out, Kurt looked Marchetti in the eye. “Where do I find this Otero character?”

“The control center, in the main building, back near the helipad.”

“Can you override his access so I don’t get welded, nail-gunned or otherwise screwed by your robots along the way?”