Time Was (19 page)

In all three monitors, though the face was clearly formed—nose, mouth, chin—the eyes were empty.

Except for a coded series of commands that scrolled through them, behind the face:

Hi
, the face mouthed to the I-Bots.

“Oh, boy,” whispered Itazura. “If anyone's got any ideas about what the hell this is, now's a good time to—”

“Shhh,” snapped Stonewall. Then: “Hello, Roy.”

—How did the Bad Thing come to life? asked Psy–4.

Last night. Something woke it up.

—Can't it be put back to sleep?

I dunno. Don't think so. It's
 . . .
it's so mean.

—I know, I know . . .

And it's hungry.

Psy–4 began to say something else, and that's when he looked over and saw the thing's hand.

More specifically, the palm of its hand.

God, no.

Psy–4 pulled up a picture of his own hand, the one he'd used on the scanner panel at PTSI last night.

He quickly memorized the details; every line, every fold, every spiral of all fingerprints.

Then he looked at the colossus's palm again.

It matched his perfectly.

In every detail.

No deviations.

None.

Dear God, no.

He came up to the cage, grabbed hold of the bars, then reached through and touched Roy's cheek.

—Listen to me, Roy. I have to leave for—

NO! No, please don't leave me here, not in all this darkness, not with the Bad Thing getting
—

—I have to, Roy, I'm sorry. But I'll be back soon, I swear to you. I won't abandon you, none of us will.

Take me with you.

—I can't, not just yet. I have to . . . prepare some things.

I'm so lonely here. Don't leave, please, Sighfer? It's too scary.

Psy–4 felt the tears of rage and compassion forming in the eyes of his corporeal self seated at the console.

—I know, Roy, I know it's scary, and I'd give anything to make it better for you but there's nothing I can do right now. I have to have help. That's why I need to leave. But I'll come back for you, and when I do, you'll come with me. I swear it, Roy. You won't be here much longer.

The child's crying lessened.
Promise?

—I swear to you on my life, Roy, that we'll get you out of here.

Sighfer?

—Yes?

If you get me out of here . . . I mean . . . my daddy, he doesn't love me anymore . . . I mean . . . if you come back and get me . . . will you . . . will you be my daddy?

Something new and overpowering awakened in Psy–4's core.

—Yes, Roy. I'll be your new daddy.

Then everything's okay, then. You'11 come back real soon?

—As soon as I can. Not long, not long at all.

 . . .
bye . . .

—No—not goodbye, Roy; until we meet again.

 . . .
'kay . . .

—You'll be all right.

Okay.

—Roy?

Uh-huh?

—It's a wonderful world waiting for you. It really is.

Can you . . . can you tell me what . . . what grass smells like?

—I can do better than that.

“The plant over there by the window,” said Radiant.

Itazura snapped his head up. “Say
what?
”

“Bring me the plant over by the window.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

“Okay, okay . . . don't get your shorts in a knot.”

He retrieved the plant and brought it over to Radiant.

“Hold it near my face,” she said, not breaking physical contact with Psy–4.

Itazura did as he was told.

Radiant inhaled deeply of the rich, cool, sweet aromas of the leaves.

She then reshaped those scents into an energy form that Roy could interpret as constituting
smell.

And channeled them through Psy–4, who—

—offered them to Roy.

Oh, wow. Never smelled grass before.

—This isn't exactly grass; it's a plant that grows in the same soil. But the smell is awfully close.

I love it. It smells so pretty.

—And you'll see it. Soon. You'll love it even more. To see the sun shining down on its green blades, to hear the wind rustle through it, to watch flowers break through the soil and add their color to the majesty of it all . . . you'll love it, Roy.

I already do. Thank you, Sighfer.

—You're welcome.

The child closed its eyes, there in the cage, and shared the smell of the plant with the creatures who surrounded the cage and those still emerging from his forehead.

And that's how Psy–4 left Roy and the creatures, there in the darkness; with a rising monster behind them, and only the simple glory of the scent of leaves to give them hope.

 

His face hastily stitched up by a Chinese doctor the SMS kept under their protection, stoked on painkillers, head wrapped like some Egyptian mummy in an old horror movie, Rudy Paynter stumbled along the streets of Cemetery Ridge looking for the Scrapper camp.

He'd show them.

Gash and all the others.

Yessir, he'd show them and good.

He touched his coat and felt the reassuring presence of the Magnum and the Uzi tucked safely into their respective oversized holsters.

Jeez, how he hated robots of all types.

Hated them with a venom that bordered on the inhuman.

It hadn't always been that way, though; time was, Rudy had loved machines of all kinds. Loved watching them, building them, making them work. Mechanical model cars were his favorites; not just because it took a lot of skill to put them together, but because it helped to take him away from the sick-making reality of his home life.

A drunken, depressed father.

A drug-addicted sister who peddled her ass on the streets to finance her habit.

And a hateful, bitter, abusive mother.

Eventually, after Rudy had arrived at the hospital one time too many with one broken bone and bleeding cut too many, Social Services was called in and counseling ensued.

It was decided that a Robot Domestic was what was needed.

With the robot in the house, Rudy's safety was guaranteed.

The child Rudy had once been had grown to love that robot, who was named Joanne.

She seemed to care about him, as well.

After a while, it was like Joanne wasn't a machine at all.

Then things started going sour with his parents again. His sister turned up in the city morgue with a system full of bad smack.

Dad went back to drinking and weeping and doing nothing else.

Mom went back to hurting him.

Or trying to, anyway.

Joanne would always step in and diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

Then, one particularly bad day, Rudy's mom found the loophole. She came running into the house screaming to Joanne that Rudy had fallen in the street and there was a car coming and please could Joanne go get him before he was hurt.

Rudy had been upstairs at the time, using the bathroom. He didn't hear a thing.

By the time he walked downstairs, looking for Joanne, she was already in the middle of the road. It only took him an instant to figure out what was going on.

“He's right ahead of you, you can't see him yet,” called his mother.

Rudy tried to rush out into the street to stop Joanne but his mother buried a fist in his face and sent him to the floor.

He heard the truck coming down the street.

Too fast, too fast.

He heard the brakes being slammed.

The screeching of the tires.

The ugly
whump!
of metal hitting metal.

Too loud, too loud.

His mother stood over him, laughing. “Damned robots is the stupidest things I ever seen!”

Rudy staggered out into the street to find the smoking, sparking scrap heap that had once been Joanne.

He cried as he attempted to put her back together.

He couldn't do it.

“You stupid machine,” he spluttered, his heart breaking. “How come you had to listen to her? How come?”

From that day on, Rudy Paynter made it his mission in life to destroy all robots.

Because they had cheated him.

Because they hadn't protected him like they were supposed to.

Because they were stupid.

And because no kid should ever get his heart broken the way Rudy's had been.

He was going to find that stinking camp, and then he was going to find the sewer entrance, and then he was going to get one of those lousy damn Scrappers to move that grate, and then he was going to make one of them lead him to DocScrap's place, and then he was going to kill DocScrap and bring the dude's head back in a bucket for Gash and all the others to see.

He'd show them.

He'd show them all.

 

Janus looked across the desk at Annabelle. “Okay, I've read it.” He tossed the last of the files onto her desk. “So what?”

“This one's very important to me, Janus.”

“They all are. For as long as I've known you, Annabelle, you've hated to lose.”

“I can't lose this one. Not again. There's more riding on this than you know. If you've got any questions about Robillard—”

“—the guy's grandfather pioneers the electronic brain and creates a robotic prototype. The old guy is offed by a bunch of half-assed Nazi nitwits before they can lay hands on his notes. We flash forward a couple of decades. Zac finds the old man's notes and the prototype but manages to get his girlfriend killed in the process. He loses the prototype but not the notes, escapes, comes back to the States, takes a job here, and improves upon his grandfather's original concept. Have I missed anything so far?”

“No.”

“Five years ago he takes off with the five I-Bots for reasons that, curiously enough, are not mentioned in any of those files, and you've been busting your ass and everyone else's ever since trying to find them. That bring us pretty much up to date?”

“Yes.”

“So what makes you think I'm going to have any better luck tracking him down on my own than you've had with all your money and personnel?”

“You don't have to track him down. I already know where he is.”

“Mind telling me how?”

Annabelle pulled a single sheet of white paper from under the files and glanced at it. “Last night another of my former employees, Samuel Preston—”

“PTSI. I know the name.”

“Last night he conducted some sort of security test at his main facility. My people on the inside—and remember, Janus, I've got people
everywhere
—tell me that it took the freelance security team less than seven minutes to break into not only the compound, but Sam's office, as well, and take complete control of everything.” She dropped the paper onto the desk. “Even a crack commando squad of seasoned professionals couldn't infiltrate the PTSI compound in under forty-five minutes, and that's if they're using state-of-the-art equipment. According to my sources, the people hired to test security at PTSI carried no equipment at all. Nothing. Not even a screwdriver.”

“So you think it's Robillard and the I-Bots?”

“Has to be. No human being could get in that quickly and remain undetected. Sam's security is too good. I ought to know. The bastard lured two dozen of my best people away when he left the company.”

“You sound like a woman scorned.” Despite himself, Janus couldn't hide the contemptuous amusement in his voice.

Annabelle either didn't see or didn't appreciate his humor. “In the five years since Robillard stole my property and left WorldTech, there have been eight attempts to capture him and the I-Bots.”

“Why both? Why not just grab the androids?”

“First of all, they're not exactly androids, but they're not cyborgs, either. The I-Bots are a combination of both yet so much more. Secondly, I want Robillard alive. I suspect that he's developing a new prototype—if he's not built one already.”

“Ah, now we get to it,” said Janus. “A new prototype. Is that why Robillard left and took the I-Bots with him? Because he found out what you ultimately had in mind for his creations?”

Annabelle smirked at him. “What's this? Twenty questions?”

“What did you really want the I-Bots for, Annabelle?”

“You tell me.”

Janus didn't miss a beat. “A private army.”

Something flickered in her eyes; shock, maybe?

“Go on.”

“That's it, isn't it? Somehow he found out that the I-Bots were going to be programmed to be your personal spies, assassins, and all-around doers of deeds too dirty for you to soil your hands with.”

“I have to look out for my interests, don't I? And people like you aren't all that easy to locate at a moment's notice.”