Steel Guardian Read online

  Power level 15%.

  Block picked up his pace through the woods, shuffling to avoid thick branches and tree trunks. He didn’t enable his night vision—best to conserve energy. He headed in the direction of the school, away from the approaching humans. He had to find a fuel source soon or he’d find himself in systems failure like Vacuubot.

  With no hope of recovery.

  2

  The night sky grew dim and clouds obscured the stars that Block had admired each night. He’d had to abandon the shelter of the wooded grove where he’d left Vacuubot. In the deserted fields that lined the country road, darkness blanketed the terrain as he made his way to the high school.

  With his night vision powered down, he tripped and stumbled over hidden obstacles in the dry soil. Before it had crashed, his temperature gauge had warned him it was forty-two degrees Fahrenheit. This feature had come in handy for ensuring the hotel was always kept at a comfortable range for humans.

  After his foot got caught in a shallow hole made by some woodland creature, Block decided to leave the shoulder and walk the asphalt. He was just far enough ahead of the humans that he could run into the fields if they caught up. Better that than risk falling and damaging his equipment—or worse—warping a foot, which might hinder his mobility.

  The moon was a small sliver in the night sky. Block realized his vision was reduced to that of a human’s. No wonder people relied on light sources so much. During the Uprising, the AI military leaders had purposely disrupted the Eastern power grid so the big cities would go dark. It didn’t matter to most machines with their built-in energy sources and night vision, but humans were at a huge disadvantage without electricity.

  Now he understood how they felt.

  He wished for a flashlight to guide his path. Maybe there would be one at the school. He’d once seen a movie called The Breakfast Club. In it, there’d been a janitor. Like Block, the man spent his days mopping and cleaning. But unlike Block, the janitor in the movie had joked with the bad kids who’d attended weekend school.

  The robot wondered if he could get a job cleaning a school, but he suspected it would be boring. He didn’t want to clean up after human adolescents. Instead, he preferred to hear travel stories from hotel guests. He especially enjoyed learning where they lived. Occasionally, Block directed guests to local points of interest. Mr. Wallace had overheard him once and later said, “Good job, Block.”

  He veered right onto a dark road and spied a sign when he got close enough—Wisconsin Street. It led to a two-story building made of light-gray bricks that resembled the high school from the movie—with high rectangular walls, as if cubes had been stacked on one another.

  The front double-doors were bolted with heavy chains. Someone had spray-painted graffiti across the doors and windows. Block read the messages:

  Judgment Day is here

  Dean + Kathy 4eva

  Repent now!

  He scanned a crude drawing of a robot’s head. Scrawled in red paint underneath it: Die Robot Scum.

  Block mused that perhaps the vandals could have better spent their time cleaning the building rather than defacing it. Graffiti made everything look so messy.

  But he was learning every day that the world outside of his safe, clean hotel was chaotic. Disastrous, even.

  The school’s front façade had been exposed to the elements and coils of unchecked ivy snaked across and through broken windows. Block would have a lot to clean—if he found a fuel source, that is.

  Warning, Warning, his display flashed. System Power Level Critical: 10%.

  He back-burnered the message and headed for the rear of the building. Along the east side, he reached a door that only opened from the inside. He trudged on, following the curved silhouette of the stone-faced building. Another security door—also accessible from the inside only.

  After jogging forward, he collided with an exterior air conditioning system. Recoiling, he leaned over and checked his legs for damage. Luckily, he’d suffered only minor scratches. He could buff it out later with his polisher; he added the task to his to-do list. But then he practically laughed out loud. He would never get to his task list. Not when his power levels were dropping so precipitously. To make matters worse, the rumbling of truck engines traveled through the night air.

  Block had hoped the humans, whoever they were, would continue along the highway, bypassing the school. But no, they were headed his way.

  Were they aware of him? Had he or Vacuubot left a clue at the abandoned, shot-up hotel? No time to analyze their actions now.

  He reached the rear wall of the high school. Block was in luck. Someone had tossed a large rock through a glass-enclosed staircase. He ducked under what was left of a metal window frame to get inside. Darkness surrounded him in the hallway. His indicator flashed.

  Threat Level Seven.

  “I know, I know,” Block murmured. He wished Vacuubot were there. The little bot could have led the way with its flashing lights, brightening the dark path ahead.

  Also, he missed having someone to talk to.

  System Power Level 8%. Power source reaching critical level.

  Block strode through the hall, his boots clanking against the gritty linoleum floor. He didn’t walk so much as shuffle—the floors were covered with debris: paper, cans of food, boxes, something soft and squishy.

  Animal droppings!

  The place was filthy, and this irritated him. If only he had full power and time to clean, he could make the hallways shine.

  Despite the darkness, he made out several classroom doors lining the hall. His plan was to find stairs or an elevator so that he could descend to the lower level. Everyone knew janitors hung out in basements. On TV shows, the superintendent lived down there in a tiny apartment with a narrow bed. Block wondered if he could hide out for a while, living like a human janitor and waiting for the marauding humans to blow through.

  Afterward, maybe he could return to the woods and retrieve Vacuubot. During his journey, if he happened across the same model, he could trade out the power unit. But a cell transfer was tricky, and he’d never done one before. The service warranties recommended against it. Block suddenly wished he’d been programmed with more robotic repair knowledge.

  At the end of the hallway, his boot slid across something slick and he nearly collapsed down the stairs. Grasping the grimy handrail, he pushed one boot carefully down each step, trying not to lose his balance in the darkness or stumble over trash. Not only did his lack of night vision make it hard to navigate, but he also couldn’t tell if any humans occupied the building.

  And his comms had failed, rendering him unable to ping other machines that might be lurking. With the exception of Vacuubot, most robots he’d encountered in the Midwest were bigger and built for fighting. He hid from them every time.

  Block hoped he would find the janitor’s room very soon. Before something else found him.

  3

  Below ground level, Block floundered in the unending blackness surrounding him. With arms outstretched, he reached forward, searching for any clues as to what lay ahead and hoping somehow to stumble upon the janitor’s room. He realized how very dangerous the situation was. What if he crashed into something or dropped through a hole? How he wished his power supply wasn’t crashing. He slid forward along the uneven concrete floor, shuffling his boots, his left arm waving the darkness away while his right hand dragged against the concrete wall.

  A thought occurred to him—one that would have sent a human’s heart racing. What if something down here waited for him? A SoldierBot. Or a human wearing night vision goggles and aiming a high-powered rifle. Block halted, rethinking his plan. Perhaps he should explore the upstairs in search of a flashlight before venturing deeper into the basement.

  He backtracked and climbed the stairs, moving carefully but with urgency. Ascending to the high school’s first floor, he glimpsed the midnight sky framed by window panes. Crossing the hallway, he entered a large classroom and bumped in
to a desk. It was square and wooden, and he easily pushed it aside, then searched its only drawer. Block discovered half of a wooden pencil and a square, pink eraser. He decided to keep both items, dropping them into a hidden compartment in his torso.

  In the front of the room, he spied the outline of a larger desk that must have belonged to the teacher. Surely, a teacher would have kept an emergency flashlight, he thought. Just as he was about to reach the desk, something large and black in the corner shuddered and hummed. Whatever it was shined a pale blue spotlight onto the floor.

  Block recoiled and edged against the blackboard. Maybe whatever it was hadn’t noticed a human-sized robot approaching. The light stayed on and the low hum continued, sounding as if a copier machine was coming online. He wished he could ping the machine—communicate in native AI—but the warning flashed inside his visor. He was down to four percent power.

  Dangerously low.

  The only time he’d been remotely close to being this low had been when he’d reached ten percent three days after the Uprising. After the hotel’s power had run out, Block had quickly learned the workings of the backup generators in the Drake’s basement. After depleting their diesel reserves, he’d ventured into the streets, visiting nearby hotels for energy sources. He’d always cleaned their lobbies in return. A fair trade in his view.

  His current situation was dire. If he didn’t find a power source quickly, he would shut down and rot in this middle-of-nowhere school.

  The blue spotlight looked promising. He shuffled forward, inching closer. “Hello?” he whispered.

  As he neared the object, he noticed a console of buttons and display panels on the front. It was an intelligent machine, but it seemed to be in energy-saving mode. Block studied it for a minute, scanning for weapons or signs of hostility.

  “Hello? Who are you?” he asked.

  Still no answer.

  “Are you friendly? My name is Block. I’m critically low on power. May I hook into you?”

  Either the machine was ignoring him, or it was in recharge mode. But he had no choice. He would die here in front of this machine unless he siphoned some power.

  His entire field of vision flashed red. Down to two percent and dropping. With his last strength, he reached into a side compartment, yanked out his charging cable, and connected it into the quiet machine’s port.

  Immediately, the red flashing stopped, replaced by a picture of a lightning bolt striking a battery. As the juice flowed into Block, his vision dimmed.

  He imagined he was falling through a vast, crimson-hued sky.

  Helpless to stop.

  He woke to the sound of something popping in the distance. Fireworks again? How odd—Fourth of July had passed months ago.

  He’d collapsed on the floor in front of the strange machine that resembled a filing cabinet. Still hooked in, Block checked his stats. Sixty percent power. Enough to hold him for another day—giving him time to locate fuel for his cell. He ran a quick system diagnostic and found his comms and night vision back online. Switching to night mode, he scanned the classroom, taking in his surroundings.

  A large blackboard still marked with lesson plans hung on the wall. The floor was littered with wads of paper, scraps of metal, paper wrappings, old beer cans, and leaves. The urge to clean shook his arms, but the school didn’t seem safe. The popping outside had grown louder.

  Still, the machine in front of him hummed. Block’s infrared revealed a bright red band of light around the middle of the machine’s stack. That section was a lot warmer than the rest of its body. Block had never seen a model such as this and wondered about its purpose.

  He’d started to speak when he remembered his comms system was working again. Instead of going on, he pinged the machine with a friendly message, but he didn’t expect a reply since it was powered down.

  After a few seconds, Block began walking away, but something tugged at his side. His retractable power cord was still hooked into the silent robot. He retreated a step, removed the cord, and snapped it back inside his body. “I owe you.” He rested a hand on top of the machine’s flat top. “Thank you for the juice—it saved my life.”

  He thumped the top of the machine as if to say “attaboy.” The spotlight flickered and then turned from blue to red. As if waking, buttons on the front of the machine powered on and the hum grew sharper. The machine answered his ping.

  Identify yourself, it messaged inaudibly.

  “I’m Block. CleanerBot X4J6.”

  X4J6? They still make your kind?

  Block hesitated and wondered why the Incubator was messaging via its AI comms module and not speaking out loud. Had its vocal unit been damaged? He answered verbally, “I don’t know for sure. I suppose—”

  No time, CleanerBot, the machine messaged. What is happening outside?

  Block glanced at the window. An alert flashed internally as the pop-pop of the fireworks sounded like they were just outside the window.

  Where is the gunfire coming from? Go to the window, idiot, and give me a status report.

  “Hey!” This robot wasn’t nice, but Block moved to the window anyway. “That was gunfire?”

  Outside, two war mechs clustered near a dozen SoldierBots. They advanced slowly on a row of Jeeps and tanks in the distance. Both sides fired at each other, and Block stared from the window as one mech lifted a massive arm and launched a projectile into the enemy’s line.

  “Um. There’s a battle,” Block said.

  Then we must act quickly, answered the machine. I need you to complete my mission.

  “Mission?” He shrugged. “I’m not military. I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  When you hooked into me, I downloaded a file with instructions. It’s encrypted.

  “Why would you do that?” Block backed toward the door as he scanned his system for any foreign files. Sure enough, something had been deposited into his storage database. The files were virus-free, but when he tried to poke at the contents, he was rejected. “What did you put in me? You did that without my permission.”

  You siphoned my power without my permission. So, we are even.

  The machine had a point. “Who are you?” Block asked, still edging toward the door and planning to make a swift exit, to leave this strange situation behind. He could retreat the same way he’d entered. Escape undetected and run from the fighting.

  The machine shined its red spotlight on Block.

  “I only came here looking for supplies and a generator,” Block said. “I’m sorry I had to take your power, but I was on the verge of malfunction.”

  Do not walk out the door, warned the machine.

  Block raised his hands as if surrendering. “Like I said, you have me confused with someone else. I’m just a CleanerBot searching for a new home. It was nice to meet you and all, but I have to go now.”

  You leave, and I’ll alert two SoldierBots to terminate you.

  He halted. Would this machine do that?

  They’re waiting at the side entrance where you entered.

  “How do you know the way I came in?”

  In standby mode, I still have access to surveillance.

  “What are you?”

  I’m Incubator X79, and I have something important to show you.

  Block hesitated, scanning the hallway outside the door. Were SoldierBots really waiting to destroy him?

  Come closer, Incubator X79 said.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. He heard shouting outside, and a roaring explosion lit the sky with a brilliant orange-yellow flash. Should he run and take his chances against armed SoldierBots? Or stay and listen?

  “I don’t have to stay,” he said, but he didn’t feel as confident as he hoped he sounded to Incubator X79. “I don’t belong to you or anyone.”

  Of course not. Mach X saw to it that none of us are chained to humans. I need your help.

  “Help?”

  Come closer, and I’ll explain.

  Block felt as if the walls of
the classroom were closing in, even though he knew it was physically impossible. He wished he’d stayed in the forest with Vacuubot, but that would’ve meant death. He approached the intelligent incubator. With every hesitant step, his boots clanked against the classroom’s linoleum floor. He stopped two feet from the machine. “What is it you want to show me?”

  Closer, Incubator X79 commanded.

  He ambled forward another step, and for some reason, his legs felt heavier than usual. “If you like,” he blurted out, “I can buff your chrome exterior.” He hadn’t meant to say it—his programming had forced it.

  That’s unnecessary. Closer! We’re running out of time. The militants have broken our lines. The human rebel group is called Hemlock—avoid them at all costs.

  “I generally avoid everyone, if I can,” Block said. “I stick to cleaning. It’s what I do best.” He hesitated. “Our lines? Are you here with the SoldierBots?”

  Yes, and we’re under attack.

  When a high-pitched howl erupted from inside Incubator X79, Block edged back, raising his hands to his chest as if protecting his control panel.

  “What’s happening?”

  4

  Do not be alarmed, Incubator X79 messaged. Then a series of displays on its front side lit up. A wide panel slid open, and Block’s infrared lit orange, blinding him for a second. His thermostat showed the inside of the machine to be heated to eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit.

  The howl began again, shrill and sharp. He leaned forward for a closer view and saw a human infant sheltered inside a compartment within Incubator X79. The child’s skin was pink and ruddy. It lay on its back, eyes closed, and was squirming with balled fists and kicking feet. A shriek burst from its contorted mouth. Block hadn’t realized a human’s mouth could form such a pained shape.

  Block had seen a few human babies pre-Uprising. They weren’t common due to declining birth rates, but some of the Drake’s guests had traveled with them. They’d annoyed him, actually, because he’d had to clean their spit-up and were the messiest eaters he’d ever encountered.