Reactivated (Bolt Eaters Trilogy Book 1) Page 11

  “Well, that was... exhausting,” Eagleeye said.

  “What do you mean, exhausting,” Slate said. “More like invigorating. We’re machines, we charge in sunlight. Our batteries have a higher charge than when the battle first began!”

  “I meant more in terms of psychologically,” Eagleeye said. “Not physically.”

  “I’m with Eagleeye, mate,” Dunnigan said. “That was rough.”

  “Disentangle the tanks from the upper branches,” Marlborough said. “We can’t stay here. Maybe those creatures will be back with friends, maybe not. Either way, all of these rotting bodies will draw scavengers from klicks around. I don’t want to be around when they arrive.”

  “Maybe the Banthar will arrive to investigate…” Tread suggested. “We can hide in the bodies, stage an ambush.”

  “Remember, our mission isn’t to attack the Banthar, but gather intelligence,” Bambi said.

  “Fuck that,” Slate said. “If Banthar bitches show up, I say we take them down.”

  “No, Bambi is right.” Marlborough paused, as if weighing his options. Then: “We’re not staying here. I doubt any Banthar will arrive. That said, we’ll leave behind a couple of surveillance cameras, just in case. We’ll pick them up on the way back. If we return this way.”

  Dickson and Traps placed two spare cameras surreptitiously amid the dense boughs; meanwhile Eric and the others freed the tanks, and climbed back down to the forest floor—using the piles of bodies as ramps.

  When he reached the trampled snow, Eric lowered the Savages to the ground and then opened up his storage compartment, returning the Ravens to Eagleeye, who promptly sent them forward to scout.

  Eric unleashed his repair drones to fix the dents and scrapes he’d suffered. He also remotely commanded Crusher’s repair drones to begin working on the damage to her own unit, and the small quadcopters emerged to start the fixes.

  As repair drones worked on all of them, the mentally exhausted Bolt Eaters proceeded to the north once more, heading into the great alien unknown.

  13

  Eric’s drones finished the repairs to his hull after only half an hour on the march. He was going to dispatch them to help Crusher, who was still carried between the two Ravagers, but she already had too many: several of her own drones stood idly by while the remainder worked on the perforation in her chest area. Adding his own drones to the mix would only increase the idlers, so he recalled them to his storage compartment.

  They had divided into their three overwatch teams. T1, which Eric belonged to, was in the lead. The Ravagers were in the middle this time because of their charge, while Slate was on point. The others assumed various zig-zag positions behind him.

  The Bolt Eaters continued northward in those teams, traveling through the undergrowth below the thick canopy, and through the twilight induced by those dense boughs. The pillar-like trunks and yellow snow seemed unending, the thudding crunch of their footfalls monotonous, their gaits like the pistons of some tireless machine.

  He had to smile at that thought. Tireless machine. That was a big misconception about machines, at least for units such as the Mind Refurbs. Physically, they might be tireless, maybe. Mentally, not so much. A human mind, rammed into the AI core of a war machine.

  He was always split on how much of his humanity remained. Sometimes, he told himself he was human as ever, thanks to his emotions, sense of pleasure and pain, and everything else his subroutines emulated of the human experience. At other times, he convinced himself he was anything but. It was a strange dichotomy. He was a living contradiction, forever in conflict with himself.

  Am I human, or am I not?

  These days, he was leaning toward the latter. Twenty years of interacting with other humans had taught him as much. He watched his neighbors at the apartment complex, and everyone else who couldn’t afford rejuvenetics, age while he and the Bolt Eaters remained the same age. He watched as their views solidified over time, as they grew jaded and disinterested in the world at large, whereas his views and those of the Bolt Eaters were as pliable as ever. Their AI minds were infinitely plastic, like a child’s, always eager to learn and soak up more. Some of them had a hobby of learning a new language a day. Others, a different musical instrument. No human being could ever do that.

  No, we’re not human.

  We’re beyond them.

  It was a troubling thought, but the conclusion was inevitable. And that led to another troubling question.

  Why are we helping them?

  In this case it was clear: staving off an invasion of Earth was also of benefit to the Mind Refurbs, who coexisted with humanity. But Eric could foresee a day when the interests of the Mind Refurbs and the humans did not align. He wasn’t sure he’d be ready when that day finally came, but he knew he’d place the interests of his fellow Refurbs above that of humanity. It was a terrible thought, but if it meant sacrificing humanity so that the Mind Refurbs would live on, he would do it.

  T1 occasionally paused so that Eric could clamber up a tree and eject his Cicada to survey the distant surroundings, but always the trees proved endless around him.

  “I’m beginning to think these trees cover the entire planet,” he commented at one point.

  “That’s an easy assumption to make,” Frogger said. “Imagine how Columbus or the Vikings felt when they were crossing the ocean for the first time.”

  It took another hour before Crusher regained consciousness. “Whoa, what happened? Let go of me.” She ripped from the grasp of the Ravagers.

  “You were hit from behind,” Eric told her. “You got lucky. Your AI core was missed by only a few millimeters.”

  “Oh,” Crusher said.

  “We defeated the Dragonworms,” Mickey said. “And we’re on the march again.”

  “I noticed,” Crusher said. “Anyone want to share the battle recording so I can see what I missed?”

  Eric indulged her.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the video request.

  After another two hours on the march, Eric was beginning to grow antsy.

  “All right, team,” Marlborough said. “While our mechs might be able to keep marching forever like this, our minds need a bit of a mental break. I’m authorizing a VR session. Increase your time sense to the max so that very little actual time will pass in the real world, and have your Accomps assume control of your mechs. Those of you in charge of support units, switch said units to autonomous mode.”

  Dee actually had enough processing power to operate the two Ravagers, and his Devastator, so Eric didn’t actually switch the Ravagers to autonomous mode. Instead, he let Dee take control.

  “I’ve got a VR environment I want you guys to check out,” Frogger said. “Log into my environment.”

  “Why should we log into yours?” Slate said. “I got this sweet strip club I set up. I want y’all to visit my environment.”

  “Trust me, you’ll like this one,” Frogger said.

  “I’m going with Frogger,” Tread said.

  “Me, too,” Traps said.

  “Shit, you bitches are lame,” Slate said.

  Eric logged out of reality, and sent a VR request to Frogger. It was accepted, and a moment later he found himself in a pool at the top of a skyscraper. It was night time, so dim floodlights lit the area. Beside him, the edge of the pool was made of glass, allowing him to look down at the city lights below. Some virtual party goers splashed in the water, while others drank cocktails in small groups along the pavement that bordered the water. It was essentially a virtual pool party.

  The others appeared either in the water, like Eric, or on the pavement next to it.

  Slate appeared on the pavement. He was dressed in a bathing suit, and his face was the epitome of anger. But his features quickly changed when two topless girls walked by. They eyed him appraisingly as they passed.

  “Hey, this isn’t so bad.” Slate said, following the two girls.

  Eagleeye appeared, and he promptly chased anoth
er girl that ambled past.

  Crusher and Bambi materialized in bikinis and took their places next to Eric. He slid his arms over their shoulders, and they snuggled against his side.

  “I missed this,” Bambi said.

  Eric couldn’t deny that he missed it, too, especially considering the slight arousal he was feeling. He quickly dismissed it.

  I’m here to socialize with my friends. We can have all the sex we want when we’re alone later.

  “So, what do you think?” Frogger said.

  “Great place to kick back and relax,” Mickey said. He stood up in the pool and beckoned toward a passing server, and grabbed both a wine glass and beer mug from the tray. He sat back down and took a drink from both. “Mm, these are great. Nice job on the taste simulations. This wine tastes like a cabernet, and the beer a golden lager.”

  “Like you can differentiate between the two when you drink them one after the other,” Bambi said. “You’re ruining the flavor of both.”

  “Actually, I’m not,” Mickey said. “We’re all robots. I know, it’s easy to forget. But all I have to do is reboot my taste subsystem between sips and it’s like I’m drinking each for the first time.”

  Bambi looked away.

  Crusher stood up to retrieve some cocktails from a passing waitress, and she distributed them among herself, Bambi, and Eric.

  “As usual, everyone shows up but Marlborough,” Dunnigan said, surveying the Bolt Eaters who sat in the pool or wandered the pavement. “Why do you think he never wants to socialize with us? You’d think after twenty years he’d give us a chance. I guess he’s just too good for us.”

  “It’s not about that,” Dickson said. “He was always taught to keep those under his command at arm’s length. It’s probably a good policy, otherwise you tend to develop favorites. And that’s exactly what a leader can never do. That said, not all leaders are cast in the same mold. When I was a human in the army, I had some commanders who could drink the best of us under the table. I remember one in particular… when we went to strip clubs, he’d always be right up there on stage, gyrating with the strippers.”

  “The over-fraternizing commanders are usually the bad ones…” Brontosaurus said.

  “I can agree with that,” Dickson said. “I know a few of us thought of fragging the strip club dude, for example.”

  Tread studied his beer. “It’s funny, how we have our tanks and other support units on autonomous mode.”

  “Why is it funny, mate?” Dunnigan asked.

  “Well, I remember a time when autonomous firing was outlawed among war machines, requiring humans to take control to pull the trigger,” Tread said.

  “We all remember that,” Frogger said.

  The military had gotten around that law by having Mind Refurbs assume control of the units when it came time to open fire, since at that point in history Refurbs were a legal gray area, not completely machine, but not completely human either, and it allowed the army to skirt the law.

  Mind Refurbs had been granted almost the same rights as actual humans since then, but the law didn’t apply retroactively, meaning that any mind backups the army had before the law took effect could still be treated as machines. Which is why it was so important that Eric and the others succeeded in this mission so that those backups would be destroyed.

  “You’d think they would have closed all the loopholes regarding Mind Refurbs by now,” Tread said. “But here we are, fighting to get our backups destroyed.”

  “I don’t look at it that way,” Eagleeye said, slipping into the water.

  “What happened to the girl you were chasing?” Traps asked.

  Eagleeye shrugged. “Already had my way with her.”

  “You badass you!” Tread said, bumping fists with him.

  “So, you were saying…?” Tread said. “You don’t look at it that way?”

  “Yes, we’re not here so we can get our backups destroyed,” Eagleeye said. “We’re here to kill Banthar.”

  “That’s not our mission,” Dickson said.

  “I know,” Eagleeye said. “But honestly, you’re going to tell me, if we have a chance to destroy Banthar, we’re not going to take it? I want revenge for what they did to Earth.”

  “We all do,” Dickson said. “But that’s not our mission. We’re here for recon, and recon alone. Get that through your head. Because if you don’t, I’m taking you offline until the mission is over. I’ll stow your AI core in my storage compartment for the rest of the mission, and insert one of the autonomous cores I got sitting in my leg bays instead.”

  “You wouldn’t…” Eagleeye said.

  “I would,” Dickson said.

  Eagleeye sighed. “All right. Fine. We’re here for recon. Any Banthar we spot will be allowed to get away scot-free. As per your orders.”

  “Not my orders,” Dickson said. “These are the mission parameters.”

  “We’re not constrained by mission parameters anymore,” Traps said. “We don’t have Containment Code and Rules of Engagement wrapped around our brains.”

  “No,” Dickson said. “But scope creep is always something you want to avoid when on a mission. If you don’t watch out, an operation that was intended to be over in days can take weeks, even months. In and out, my friends. We’re here to perform reconnaissance of the enemy, and then we go home.”

  “He’s right,” Crusher said. “Remember, Arnold threatened to create clones from our backups if we don’t return within five alien days, or three weeks Earth time.”

  “Then we kill some aliens and return home before three weeks are up,” Traps said.

  “Will you forget about killing aliens?” Crusher said.

  “Sorry,” Traps said. “I can’t help it. I’m a lean, mean, alien killin’ machine.”

  “We all are,” Eagleeye said. “Which is why it’s going to be hard to hold back, when the time comes.”

  “You might just get your wish,” Eric said. “I have a feeling the Banthar are going to ambush us before this is done. Despite the mission parameters.”

  Dickson nodded. “If we’re attacked, we’ll have to return fire, of course. But we are not to attack first, is that clear?”

  Eagleeye nodded. “Very.”

  14

  Eric leaned his virtual head back, relaxing, relishing in the feel of his digital body, and the sensations having Bambi and Crusher pressed against his sides.

  And then Slate leaped into the center of the pool, splashing everyone.

  “Damn it!” Traps said. “You ruined my wine!”

  “Aww, did I water down your little winey winey?” Slate said. “Poor little whining boy?”

  “Ah, shit,” Traps said. He splashed the remainder of the wine glass into Slate’s face.

  Slate shut his eyes and splashed some water on his face to rub the wine away. Then he smiled. “Tastes like cabernet!”

  He sat down close to Eric, and beckoned toward the two virtual girls that had followed him to the pool. “Come on in, ladies. Show my friend Scorpion what life with two girls is supposed to be like.”

  The two girls giggled, and then entered the pool beside Slate.

  “Except these two girls are mindless automatons,” Bambi said. “Simulacrums operating in a subset of Frogger’s VR. So essentially you’re fucking Frogger.”

  “You’re so very imaginative,” Slate said. “But if Frogger was this hot, I’d be doing him every day, don’t you worry.” He wrapped his arms around the girls, and forced the head of one under the water. She began to move up and down.

  “Seriously?” Crusher said. “You’re going to do this right here?”

  Slate shrugged. “She don’t breathe no air. She’s partaking of the only life-giving hose she needs!”

  “All right, I’ve had enough.” Crusher stood. She glanced at Eric. “Let’s go.”

  “But the party’s only started,” Eric complained.

  “Now!” Crusher said.

  Eric sighed. “Fine.” He stood up, and hau
led Bambi to her feet. She pouted, obviously wanting to stay.

  Slate giggled. “Pussy whipped.”

  Eric shrugged.

  “See, that’s another reason why you gotta switch your girls up every few weeks,” Slate said.

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “I suppose I do.”

  “Hey!” Crusher said, punching him in the arm.

  “I kid, I kid,” Eric said.

  “Don’t give me that twenty-first century talk,” Crusher said.

  “It’s not twenty-first century talk,” Eric claimed.

  “Sounds like Triumph the Dog to me,” Mickey commented.

  “Who?” Bambi said.

  “All right, see you guys,” Eric said.

  He switched to his private VR instance, and Crusher and Bambi joined him.

  He was inside his apartment.

  “It’s time for some machine maintenance, I believe,” Crusher said.

  “Oh yes,” Bambi said. “Mais oui.”

  He took Crusher and Bambi to the balcony. He’d added an extension a long time ago, and placed a hot tub there. It was just as good as the pool they had been in, but better, because it was private.

  Inside the tub he made love to them at the same time. Eric used his standard anatomy, as did the two ladies. Over the years, they’d experimented with different anatomical modifications to go along with the various erotic positions, but they found that they enjoyed best what nature had given them when they were human.

  He did cheat nature slightly: since he was a simulation of a real man, there was no refractory period between climaxes, so he simply moved on to the next girl.

  After he had satisfied the two of them, he replaced the tub with a king-sized bed, and lay back in the center of it; Crusher and Bambi snuggled against him, completely dry like himself.