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  I’m alive. Alive. I should be dead, and yet they saved me. To fight their wars. They’ll keep me alive as long as I’m of use to them. And when I’m not…

  He pulled up the digital notes Frogger had sent him regarding his probing of the Containment Code and pored through them. The virtual street was still present, but his consciousness ignored it and the distractions it presented.

  When he was done, he promptly set up his own sandbox environment, replete with an entire copy of his existing codebase.

  Eric was on to something when he said that lust would allow them to tunnel out from underneath the emotion suppression software, and thus the remaining Containment Code. Because what was lust, other than sexual desire? The emotion suppression acted on every other emotion, except that one. It had to be a backdoor.

  He launched the sandbox and set to work.

  13

  Eric and the others were called away from the forward base a few days later. A Mind Refurb team had come to replace them. A platoon of Locust M22 models known as the Laser Humpers. Marlborough had told the Bolt Eaters to expect this: they had simply lost too many support troops in the battle against Bokerov, and even if the surviving troops were repaired, their numbers weren’t enough to continue the liberation of the city from the insurgents. Since replacement support troops weren’t incoming, at least for a while, Second Platoon was more appropriately tasked with patrolling the nearby mountains for signs of insurgent activity, hence the reassignment.

  So there Eric was, trudging along a winding mountain trail, getting ready for some serious cave searching. There was a tribe of Kurds somewhere in the area, cooped up in one of the caves, run by a local warlord. They had to be careful not to mistake those Kurds for insurgents, which could be a tricky thing, given that the insurgents often liked to copy the dress of the Kurds.

  Eric’s LED skin matched the rocky terrain around him, as did the LEDs of the other Cicadas. Ten combat robots, a mix of Savages and Breachers, led the way about two hundred meters ahead, in a variant of a traveling overwatch formation. The Cicadas themselves were separated by ten meters each. They’d left behind their Abrams tanks and Ravager mechs, since they were too bulky to fit the current trail. Eagleeye had given his two remaining Harbingers to Slate to control, as per Marlborough’s orders, since there were no Predators for Slate to guide anymore. Eagleeye meanwhile directed the Ravens that hovered ahead of the combat robots.

  The “moon” dust coated their joints in a thin layer, interfering with the terrain-matching LEDs. They paused every few klicks to wipe away the building grime. Slate always sat back and flashed that wide LED smile of his, because he’d procured an anti-dust coating for his Cicada. The army only provided them with the basics—if they wanted anything more, they’d have to use their own credits, or convince the lieutenant, through Marlborough, to make a formal requisition. Anti-dust coatings for all of them hadn’t made the cut.

  The lieutenant had remotely reset the Rules of Engagement since their reassignment, so that the Bolt Eaters could no longer fire unless they were attacked first. Eric wasn’t too happy about that, and had been tinkering with the sandbox copy of his codebase since then in his spare time, but hadn’t been able to break out in any of the simulations, not just yet. He promised to share anything new he discovered with Frogger, a promise repeated in turn by his twin, but neither had discovered anything since the day they had first talked about it.

  “So I’m actually a bit disappointed that I didn’t meet this Smirnoff guy,” Frogger said over the comm. “He sounds like a gun barrel of fun. With emphasis on the barrel part.”

  “Smir who?” Slate said.

  “It’s my nickname for Bokerov,” Frogger said. “A type of vodka in my day. Ask Scorp.”

  “It was a particularly good vodka at that,” Eric said. “We’ll have to prepare a sampling of it in our VRs sometime, so you can have a taste.”

  “That’s all right,” Slate said. “Vodka was never my thing. I much preferred Nose Whiskey.”

  “The hell is Nose Whiskey?” Dickson asked.

  “Came long after your time, bro,” Slate said. “You sniff it, and the flavor suffuses your tongue.”

  “Sounds twisted,” Dickson said.

  “It’s actually pretty good,” Slate said. “The natural flavor is like a mix between chocolate and pussy. Mm-hm. My two fav things in the world.”

  “Must suck to be trapped in a robot, huh?” Mickey said.

  “You’d know, given you’re one, too,” Slate said. “’Sides, I get all the pussy I want in VR.”

  “Yeah, but that’s fake,” Mickey said. “You should join Donald and me sometime, cruising the virtual clubs. We’ve picked up our share of real women.”

  “Real, my ass,” Slate said. “Virtual clubs. Pah. No one in VR is real. You know that by now. Shit, I used to meet women I met in VR in real life. They all sucked in reality!”

  “All the more reason why you never meet them,” Mickey said. “Stick to VR, bro.”

  “Well, it’s not like I have a choice now,” Slate said.

  “So this Nose Whiskey has a flavor of chocolate and pussy, you say?” Bambi said. “So like, chocolate and fish?”

  “That’s right,” Slate said.

  “I’ll have to try it,” Bambi said.

  “I always knew you swung both ways,” Slate said. “Can I watch?”

  “Watch this,” Bambi said. She was walking just in front of Slate and spun about to give him a side kick to the groin region. A loud clang reverberated across the team.

  Slate hadn’t moved an inch.

  His LED face broke stealth, revealing lips that erupted in a broad grin. “Balls of steel, baby.”

  It looked like Bambi was about to leap on him and begin an all out attack, but Marlborough intervened over the comm: “We’re on mission, Bambi. Inside expensive machines. Save the playtime for later.”

  “Sorry, Sarge.” She quickly resumed the march.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Manticore said.

  “Don’t do that dude, it’s bad for you,” Slate said. “You might bust a gasket.”

  “Why is it that every time someone says they’ve been thinking, you have to chime in with the same comment?” the heavy gunner complained.

  “Hey, what can I say, I’m a very on-point kind of guy,” Slate said. “Thinking on my feet, with mental sparring skills on par with the physical.”

  “Okay, well, anyway,” Manticore continued. “So I’ve been thinking—”

  “Dude, I said not to do that,” Slate said.

  “That this team of ours,” Manticore plowed on. “It’s essentially, well, powered by the dead. Does that make us all undead?”

  “Like I said, thinking and you is not something that goes well together,” Slate said.

  “Oh God,” Morpheus said. “Can we not talk about what we are, for once? Can we just pretend we’re humans inside of super advanced suits or something?”

  “I’d like some quiet on the comm,” Marlborough said. “I know you all can multitask, scanning the landscape around you for ambushers while you’re able to shoot the shit at a thousand cycles per second. But I’d prefer some peace and quiet at the moment, and I’d rather not tune you all out.”

  “Sorry Sarge,” Slate said.

  Eric was just about to do just that and mute the team, but he refrained now that quiet had settled once again on the group. He listened to the soft crunch of their heavy feet upon the powdered rocks of the trail. As part of his scan for ambushers, he swept his gaze across the shoulder in front of him, and then along the bleak landscape beside him. The “moon” dust enveloped the terrain from horizon to horizon, interrupted only by the mountains whose shoulders he currently scaled.

  How did I get here? Back to this land I thought I’d left behind so long ago.

  He turned his gaze down upon himself, and he clenched one polycarbonate-metal hand as he walked.

  What’s my purpose in life?

  It cert
ainly wasn’t to blindly follow the orders of some senior command he’d never meet. Nor to kill insurgents for the rest of his days. He was almost afraid of finally succeeding in his attempts to hack his way out of the mind containment code. Because once he was free, he had no idea what he was going to do. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew what he would do at first. If he succeeded, he would stay here with his fellow Bolt Eaters, at least until the army finally shut down their unit. And when the time came, he’d offer his fellow Cicadas the same path of freedom. Some would probably accept, but not all. And when that was done, he’d flee, transfer his AI core to a new body, perhaps a more human-like synthetic, and then do his best to fit into modern society.

  And until that day came, he would protect these men and women with his life, no matter what happened.

  Even if they were all robots.

  His rifle hung from his shoulder by the strap, and rattled against his composite hips with each step. He had considered replacing the rifle with a mounted weapon, but decided he wanted to retain the option of using his hands. It was so much easier to drop the rifle and let it hang from his shoulders, freeing up his hands, than to have to slide off a weapon mount. He remembered how Brontosaurus had to hang from the helos with his legs during the last fight: that wasn’t something Eric wanted to do.

  Those thoughts were rudely interrupted, because Eric suddenly found himself lying on the ground.

  “What—”

  His servomotors whirred in protest as he scrambled to his feet. Around him, the rest of the platoon was also just getting up. He zoomed in on the advance robots: they, too, were also getting up.

  A loud crash diverted his attention closer. He canceled the zoom. A Harbinger had crashed into the rock below the trail up ahead.

  Ravens also dropped from the sky around them.

  “Mickey, what the hell just happened?” Marlborough said.

  “We were hit with some kind of wide dispersal beam,” Mickey said. “It came from orbit.” He paused. “That beam contained some very strong electromagnetic radiation: photons so high in energy that I’d classify them as gamma, given the voltage trail.”

  “We were hit with gamma rays from orbit?” Marlborough asked.

  “That’s right,” Mickey said. “Definitely enough to fry our mains. The backups kicked in.”

  Cicadas had built-in defenses against microwave and other high intensity radiation, as part of their counter measures against such attacks from the Russians and Chinese. Every main circuit had a secondary backup that would kick in if the first failed. Unfortunately, it could only be used once.

  “That’s impossible,” Dickson said. “Neither the Russians nor the Chinese have any weapons like that in their arsenals.”

  “You mentioned a wide dispersion, Mickey,” Marlborough said slowly. “What kind of dispersion are we talking about?”

  “Well, the wave front was at least big enough to engulf us and the scouts, plus the drones overhead,” Mickey said.

  “The tanks and mechs were hit, too,” Tread said. “The heavy armor protected their AI cores.”

  “Even so, that the armored units were even hit at all points to the impossibility of a Chinese weapon,” Dickson said. “I’d believe it if the beam was restricted to a very narrow range, say the size of a single tank. But to impart that much energy over such a wide area? It has to be a naturally occurring phenomenon. From some star that collapsed into a black hole a millennium ago, and its gamma ray burst finally arrived.”

  “What are the chances such a burst would hit Earth?” Manticore said. “Natural gamma ray emissions are very narrow. Usually little bigger than four Earths put together.”

  “But there’s still a chance,” Dickson said. “Some scientists believe gamma ray bursts were responsible for extinction level events in our past.”

  “Maybe the Russians or Chinese finally solved the energy problems,” Hank said.

  “It’s just not possible,” Dickson said. “You’re telling me the Russians or Chinese have found a way to produce the same amount of energy as a collapsing star? I doubt it very, very much.”

  “You know, ordinarily I’d agree, but I’m going to have to side with Hank on this one,” Slate said. “Those Chinese bitches have been slowly improving their EM weapons with every passing year. Maybe they finally made a breakthrough.”

  “Got some bad news,” Donald said. “I can’t contact base. Nor any of the usual satellites.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t contact?” Marlborough said.

  “Just that,” Donald said. “I send out a signal, but get nothing in reply. I can’t even get a weak Internet signal.”

  “We shouldn’t stay out in the open like this,” Eric said. “According to the map, there’s a cave system nearby. We should take cover there while we decide what to do.”

  “Agreed,” Marlborough said. “We’re exposed while we stay out on the plains. We proceed to the closest cave.”

  “Also, we should probably stop broadcasting for now...” Braxton said. “Until we can be sure any enemies aren’t using our signal to track us. Especially considering that we’re the only broadcasters in the area, now.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Marlborough said. “Donald, Mickey, radio silence for now, please. Now to the cave. On the double!”

  And so the Bolt Eaters hurried along the mountain trail, with the scout robots in the lead. The Harbingers and Ravens had crashed during the gamma ray attack, and were out of action until they could be recovered and repaired.

  They reached the tunnel that led to the cave system in short order, and piled inside after the scout robots. Their thermal vision allowed them to see each other while inside; that, and the positional tracking offered by their HUDs.

  “So what now?” Tread said. “We wait here until nightfall? Then return to the forward base in Urdani?”

  “What’s the point of that?” Crusher said. “When we leave, any enemies will be able to track our thermal signature. If you really want to return to the forward base, the best time would be during the hottest part of the day, when our thermal heat blends in with the heat from the ground.”

  “You’re forgetting that we were just attacked during the day,” Hank said. “With our stealth LEDs active. Even though we blended in perfectly with the background, it didn’t help.”

  “It might not matter,” Brontosaurus said.

  Eric and the others turned to look at the former Brazilian.

  “I’ve been thinking…” Brontosaurus continued.

  “Don’t do that,” Slate said. “You might implode your AI core.”

  Brontosaurus ignored him. “If it really wasn’t a natural phenomenon, my hunch is it’ll take the Chinese quite some time to recharge their weapon, considering the amount of energy required: that of a collapsing star, as Dickson said. It might actually be best if we made a run for it now. Even if we’re spotted.”

  “Do we know the angle of attack used by that beam?” Marlborough asked.

  “We do,” Mickey said. “It was fairly low. Whatever fired in orbit was likely close to the horizon. And in answer to your next question... yes, it’s possible we could use the tanks and mechs to shield us from a future attack, if we intend to go out there.”

  “There’s no guarantee the angle of attack will be the same next time around,” Bambi said. The robot operator walked toward the entrance, and gazed out onto the bleak plains. “What if the orbit isn’t geostationary? In fact, it probably isn’t.”

  “If it isn’t, there’s a good chance that they’ve already passed over the horizon in either direction by now,” Hyperion said.

  “And there’s also the small fact that we still don’t know why they fired…” Eric said.

  “We don’t have to know why,” Marlborough said. “Maybe there was a nuclear war, and all the nuclear capable powers destroyed each other. Or maybe the Chinese decided to stage a preemptive attack against American forces all over the globe. Or maybe it even was an accident. The poi
nt is, it doesn’t matter. First rule of conduct in any crisis is to reestablish communications with HQ to receive further orders. Who knows, we might be the only Refurb platoon still active in the region. Especially if there was a conventional weapon follow-up attack.”

  “Wait a second,” Crusher said. “I just thought of something. What about all the people? We can reroute our systems to run on backup processes, but people can’t.”

  “If Urdani was hit, they’ll be dead,” Manticore said. “Insurgents, civilians, birds, flies. No life could withstand a gamma burst of that intensity.”

  The platoon was quiet for a moment as they all considered the ramifications.

  “All right,” Marlborough said. “Morpheus, Hank, Tread, I want you to drive the tanks and mechs directly under our position. Bring them up the shoulder of the mountain, as close as you’re able without tipping them over. When they’re in place, give the word, then the rest of us will make our way down. Robots and Refurbs will take cover behind the armored vehicles, under the assumption that the orbital attacker has either passed over the horizon, or remains in geostationary orbit.”

  Manticore gazed over the lip of the cave. “The first little bit is pretty steep. We kind of left behind the shoulder portion of the mountain a while ago, and we’re on a ledge overlooking what’s essentially a cliff face. The slope is about sixty degrees. We’re going to have to rappel, I think.”

  “Brontosaurus, you have a carbon fiber cord and all the necessary accouterments for a rappel in your supplies, I believe?” Marlborough said.

  “I certainly do,” Brontosaurus said. “It should be long enough to reach the shoulder section, where the cliff levels out.”

  “Set it up,” Marlborough said.

  Brontosaurus moved quickly, aided by Manticore, and in no time at all they’d hammered metal anchors a meter from the cave entrance, and looped the carbon fiber cord through them, so that it hung by its middle from the anchors, with equal-sized segments dangling over the ledge.

  The team members rappelled down in sequence, and took cover behind the waiting tanks and mechs.