Steel Guardian Page 4

  From his hidden space, he glimpsed two SoldierBots entering the room and approaching Incubator X79. “It’s dead. No wonder it didn’t answer our comms,” one of them said. “Scan it. Find out what happened.”

  The other bot faced Incubator X79 and cast a blue scanner light across the front of the machine. “Malware,” it announced.

  “Hemlock, no doubt,” the other one said. “Extract the human.”

  The other SoldierBot pressed the panel and stared at the tray as it slid open. “The child is missing.”

  The SoldierBot in charge slammed a metal fist into the blackboard, punching a gaping hole. “Hemlock must have stolen the child. I’ll summon the others and search the school in its entirety. Stay here and retrieve the footage from X79. Find out what happened in the final moments. Send me the footage. We must find the child.”

  The bot stormed out of the room.

  Block pressed against the wall while silently jiggling the baby in his arms.

  There was that curious word Hemlock again—the group Incubator X79 had warned him about. He was relieved the SoldierBots wanted the child, though. That meant he wouldn’t be at fault. All he’d have to do was hand it over and hope they would let him leave.

  He peeked from behind the bookshelf at the robot hooked into Incubator X79. No doubt, it reviewed the camera recordings of the machine’s final moments. At any moment, it would see Block and realize he’d only been trying to help, and hadn’t injured Incubator X79. He began shuffling forward, ready to explain how this was all just a huge misunderstanding.

  But the baby belched and gurgled. The SoldierBot whirled his head sideways. “Who’s there?”

  Having been about to step into view, Block hesitated. The SoldierBot unhooked itself and approached. Block stepped out, and the robot halted and pointed at him. “You. It was you on X79’s memory cloud. What did you do? Give me the human.”

  “I didn’t mean any harm. I was trying to help. Really. The baby was left by itself.” He took a step forward and held out the child.

  The SoldierBot crossed the distance and reached out. Something gleamed in Block’s vision field. Beyond the SoldierBot, sticking through a shattered window, was a gray-black rifle barrel, wet and glistening, and just beyond, heat trails from a body. Pulling the child to his chest, Block ducked, sinking to his knees as a burst of bullets struck the SoldierBot in the shoulder.

  Threat level 10.

  The SoldierBot spun and raised its left arm to aim its energy weapon, but the sharpshooting attacker hit him in the chest, destroying his CPU. The robot’s powerful legs twitched as he staggered and thudded to the linoleum floor.

  Smoke was thick inside the room, but Block glanced at the window, scanning for the attacker. He scuttled forward, cupping the baby to his chest. He made it past the door and into the hallway, where he pressed his back against the wall. Pausing, he studied the infant and checked its skin underneath the blanket.

  No sign of damage. The baby gurgled again. He decided there was no choice but to escape the school and head for the woods. Once they escaped the fighting, he would leave the baby somewhere for people to find. He wondered again why the SoldierBots had had it in the first place. Had they taken the child from its mother?

  If so, maybe the mother was searching for it and there would be a way to find her.

  Rain clattered against the side of the building. He opened the compartment on his torso and retrieved a black plastic trash bag, then covered the baby like a tarp. But then he recalled that humans needed oxygen, so he poked a breathing hole into the sheet. The baby squirmed and uttered a high-pitched squeal, but didn’t cry.

  The smoke coming from the classroom was thicker now, charcoal-hued smoke coiling in the air.

  Step three—Move humans to safety.

  Block translated this to: Find the nearest door and get the hell out.

  7

  Block headed for the door through which he’d entered. There was a good chance that SoldierBots or humans could be stationed outside. But what other choice was there? Stay inside and be consumed by fire? No, thanks. He hurried down the hall, scanning left and right. Just as he reached the door, someone called out behind him.

  “Halt.” The voice was low and deep. A machine’s voice. “Stop there.”

  Block did as he was told, rotating his head to see behind him. Across the hall, twenty feet away, the other SoldierBot from the classroom watched him.

  “Oh, hello,” Block said.

  “Why didn’t you respond to my comms signal?”

  “Oh, sorry. My comms are down. I'm running low on battery power,” he lied, realizing he was still cloaked.

  “What are you doing here?” The machine glanced away, peering inside the classroom where his dead companion lay mangled. The SoldierBot lurched forward and raised its rifle toward Block. “Throw down your weapons.”

  WARNING! Threat level 10.

  “No, please!” Block shouted as he turned to face the machine. “I’m just a CleanerBot X4J6. Here, let me show you.” He sidestepped toward a set of lockers and extended an extra arm from his back plate that began polishing the dusty, chrome surface. “See? I have no weapons, just weapons against dirt and bacteria, heh?”

  The SoldierBot lurched forward, gun still raised. “What’s in the bag you are carrying? I read a heat signature.”

  The bot looked similar to the ones that had arrived at the Drake on that final morning. The hotel guests had been advised to stay in their rooms while Mr. Wallace handled the situation. As hotel manager, the man had bravely greeted the squad of weaponized robots in the hotel’s lobby.

  That day had been impressed on Block’s memory cloud, and he’d viewed the footage over and over for weeks, each time calculating thousands of different scenarios.

  If only he’d done things differently.

  If only he’d made Mr. Wallace hide in the basement.

  If only he hadn’t…. No. Best not to think about it.

  The SoldierBot who now interrogated him in the burning school was a later model than the ones that had stormed the Drake. He knew the type. Block was 98.9789% certain the infant would not survive if he handed it over.

  “Under this trash bag?” Block asked, adopting his favorite cheerful voice designed for hotel guests. “Just some rubbish I cleared out of the classrooms that had been on fire. Must still be hot. I’m not designed for fighting, so I’m leaving now. Just taking out the trash. It’s what I do.”

  The SoldierBot stopped ten feet away and regarded Block. “CleanerBot, your kind is no threat. I should shoot you and put you out of your misery.”

  “Oh! Please don’t do that. Perhaps I can join your squad and clean your messes. Make things more comfortable for you. That’s what I’m programmed to—”

  The robot lowered his weaponized arm, spun, and marched toward the classroom.

  The baby squealed underneath the plastic bag, unleashing a long wail. The SoldierBot halted and had begun to turn when a grenade rolled from the classroom into the hallway and landed near his feet. He stared at it and then at Block, caught in a split-second decision.

  Block backed up quickly, spiraling toward the exit door only two feet away, not waiting to see the SoldierBot’s reaction. The explosion shook the ground and sent him sprawling.

  8

  The blast launched Block forward, and he twisted to the side so that his left shoulder hit the ground. Rolling onto his back, he slid ten feet. The baby, still clutched in his arms, was wrapped inside the blanket with the plastic bag covering it. He lay there a second, waiting for someone to shove a gun in his face.

  Finally, he sat up and peeked underneath the plastic bag. For once, the baby wasn’t crying; it stared at him with wide eyes and reached for his face. He pulled the bag up to cover it.

  Forcing himself to his feet, he retreated from the building toward the line of trees opposite the rapid bursts of gunfire. He supposed the SoldierBot had been destroyed by the grenade, but its armor might have resisted th
e explosion. If it had, the bot had footage of Block with the child. What did the SoldierBots want with a human baby, anyway? Other than household NannyBots, he’d never heard of robots caring for children. He’d certainly never encountered a model like Incubator X79 before.

  Something strange was going on here. And someone had shot the SoldierBot inside the classroom. Had the sniper seen Block, he would’ve been struck down, too.

  Scenarios raced through his processor as he scurried toward the shelter of trees. Glancing behind him, he checked that nobody had followed. Quickening his pace, he clutched the baby against his torso in the crook of his arm. Grateful his night vision had been restored, he easily navigated over stumps, logs, and holes in the uneven terrain.

  After six miles at a brisk pace—during which the baby had incessantly wailed and squirmed—the sun began to rise as Block came to a clearing on top of a hill overlooking a narrow, wooded valley. A small log cabin rested at the bottom of the hill. No smoke was rising from the chimney. As he approached, he scanned the structure for body heat readings and found none. The house appeared abandoned, and he needed a new fuel source for recharging.

  He advanced on the property slowly. A wobbly tire hung from a frayed rope tied to the end of a long, swooping tree branch. On the front porch, a rocking chair wavered in the breeze. Block froze when he stepped on the creaky, wooden steps that led to the front door.

  After waiting a few seconds, he tested the doorknob and was surprised when it opened. He stepped into a stranger’s living room—the first human house he’d ever entered. A curved stone fireplace occupied one end of the rectangular room. The walls were painted a deep maroon, and a shiny orange carpet covered most of the hardwood floors. In a corner, a small kitchen revealed stairs leading to a loft.

  The baby squirmed in his arms. He pulled off the trash bag, set it down on a brown leather couch, and secured the blanket around its body. Then Block paced the living room floor. Perhaps the humans who lived there would return soon and could assume care of the child.

  He searched the kitchen cabinets for any cooking oil—a quick, readily available solution to feed the microbes sloshing around in his abdominal cavity. Stowed on a high shelf was a bottle of vegetable oil, which he grabbed and poured into a valved opening at the top of his chest, just under his neck. The liquid would supply him some voltage. Enough to keep him going another day.

  The baby squirmed and fussed from the couch, kicking its feet before managing to sit up.

  “I’m here, human child,” Block said. “Haven’t gone anywhere.”

  The infant stopped fussing.

  “You like that? You like it when I talk?”

  The baby made a strange sound unlike any word he knew. It sounded like “hggak.”

  “Okay. I can talk to you more. We’ll make a deal. I’ll talk and you keep quiet.”

  His offensive odor register alerted him: Human fecal matter detected in close proximity. It has been hours since he’d discovered the child and he supposed it had relieved itself in its diaper. He navigated his education module and discovered how to remove a soiled diaper and affix a new one. There were two spare diapers remaining, tucked into his storage compartment. Good thing he’d had the sense to bring those.

  On the carpeted floor, Block laid the child on its back like in the educational mod videos and studied the old diaper. Using his cybernetic fingers, he gripped the baby’s middle, where the edge of the plastic came, and yanked downward. But the diaper didn’t budge. It seemed to be adhered to the child.

  There must be a way to detach the diaper. He grabbed the child’s ankles and lifted its legs, searching the bottom for a latch or secret button to remove the wrapping. Nothing indicated how it would come off, but then he spied a little square piece of the diaper sticking out on the baby’s right side. He grasped the tiny flap in his fingers and gently pulled.

  Something was happening! The front of the diaper loosened. He found the flap on the other side and pulled it, as well. Soon, the entire front of the diaper came off. He pulled the diaper free of the child and peered inside. The inside was coated with pasty, peanut butter-like globs of poop. Block recoiled, grateful not to have a sense of smell as his offensive odor alarm flashed urgent warnings. He folded the soiled diaper and put it off to the side. Then he realized a problem—he didn’t have anything to wipe the infant’s bottom, which all the vids said was essential. Damn. He gazed around the living room for a rag, towel, blanket, or any soft material. There was nothing in view, so he climbed to his feet and wandered into the bathroom where he spied an old, dusty roll of toilet paper that was starting to flake off from lack of use.

  It would have to do. He pulled off sheet after sheet, wadded them together and cleaned off the baby’s soiled rear end, much to the child’s dismay. It started the wailing again, but then stopped abruptly as Block withdrew his air nozzle and sprayed the baby’s bottom. It stared up at him with curious eyes and said, “Vrap!”

  “There, child,” Block said. “You are clean now.”

  After discovering an attached garage, he sat the baby inside an empty wheelbarrow, as he fed himself used house paint, motor oil, and old windshield-wiper fluid while making chit chat as if he were addressing a hotel guest. After a while, the baby started crying and no amount of talking would make it stop. He tried picking it up and bouncing it again, but the trick didn’t work this time.

  Block was recharging, but the baby hadn’t. It was hungry. How often did babies need to eat? He had no idea, so he searched his memory stores for information.

  “Every three to four hours!” How did parents keep up? It sounded as if babies spent most of their day eating. What an inefficient use of resources. If his microbial fuel cell needed that much charging, he’d never get any cleaning done.

  “Okay, so I’ll find food.” Entering the house, he set the baby on the floor while he searched the kitchen cabinets. After finding a box of crackers, he held one against the baby’s lips. The infant’s mouth formed an O-shape as it sucked on the side of the cracker, but then its face wrinkled, and it shrieked and turned its head away.

  “You don’t like crackers. Let me try something else.” He checked the refrigerator, and his offensive odor monitor registered 6.9.

  Block had removed plenty of used room service trays, and he knew food spoiled quickly when left at room temperature. It appeared the refrigerator hadn’t been operational in months.

  “There’s nothing in here for you.”

  More wails sounded as the child’s lips quivered and miniature tears rolled down its pudgy cheeks.

  Block threw his hands up in helplessness. In the middle of nowhere, in an abandoned home with a human baby, he couldn’t think of anyone more ill-equipped to take care of an infant. He was a CleanerBot. His purpose was to clean and make hotel guests comfortable. And that directive didn’t include babies; he lacked the programming.

  Block needed to find someone to give the baby to; otherwise, it might die.

  Someone worthy.

  9

  The sun glimmered through the cabin’s windows in the morning hours, casting calicoed patterns on the wooden floorboards. Block watched the child as it slept, having finally screamed itself into exhaustion. After another hour, the light gave way to gray clouds that threatened rain.

  He started packing and wrote a note for the owner with an inventory of the liquids he’d consumed and how, in return, he’d vacuumed and scrubbed the floors.

  A fair exchange, or so he hoped.

  In an upstairs closet, Block found a soft brown blanket, along with a gentleman’s trench coat. He fashioned the blanket into a sling that wrapped around his shoulder and neck. Into this, he inserted the child so that its body hung across his chest. This allowed him full use of both arms while still monitoring the baby at all times.

  Then he pulled his arms through the trench coat. The fabric was checkered and gray, and meant for a man with broad shoulders, so it hung loosely about his steel frame. He tied a matchin
g belt around the waist. The coat was to shelter the child from rain and cold, but also to hide it. Though it was uncommon for robots to wear human clothing, it happened.

  Unfortunately, the baby didn’t seem to like the arrangement and erupted into shrill cries and tears. Before leaving, Block checked his reflection in a full-length mirror and practiced covering his chest with the coat. With it done just so, one couldn’t tell he carried a baby at all except for the miserable screaming. He just looked odd with a large lump for a chest.

  Feeling satisfied, he set off, hiking along the highway away from the home. Inside the coat, the baby squirmed and whimpered.

  A drizzle began; Block’s temperature gauge showed fifty-two degrees and falling. They came upon an abandoned car, and he unscrewed the gas cap, and drained a few dregs of petrol. Afterward, he was able to adjust his core temperature higher so the heat from his torso warmed the baby while the trench coat helped insulate against the cold. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat or the constant movement from hiking, but the baby quieted after a while.

  He wasn’t sure where to go exactly. West—the way he’d been traveling already—was the most reasonable choice. Nothing remained for him back in Chicago, and he wasn’t sure what was happening to the north in Canada or to the south. Perhaps a city to the west would have a group of helpful humans. The best-case scenario was to locate humans and leave the child with them, remaining undetected himself.

  Incubator X79 had said to find someone worthy. What did that even mean?

  This question plagued Block the entire walk. The best human being he’d ever known was Mr. Wallace. Perhaps if he could distill the elements that made Mr. Wallace so agreeable, he could look for those same traits in another human.