The corpse speaks.
“Turn back,” it says, face twisting grotesquely. “Or die.”
I hear a splatter on the snow and inhale the sharp scent of vomit from one of my squad mates.
“What are you?” I ask in a trembling voice.
Tiberius’s corpse spasms as the scorpion coaxes out the gurgling words: “I am Archos. God of the robots.”
I notice my squad has gathered close around me to my left and right. We regard each other, faces blank. As one, we level our weapons on the twisted chunk of metal. I scrutinize the snarling, lifeless face of my enemy for a moment. I can feel my power growing, reflected onto me by my brothers and sisters in arms.
“Nice to meet you, Archos,” I finally say, my voice gaining strength. “My name is Cormac Wallace. Sorry I can’t oblige you and turn back. See, in a few days, me and my squad are gonna show up at your house. And when we get there, we’re gonna terminate your existence. We’re gonna smash you to pieces and burn you alive, you vile piece of motherfucking slime. And that’s a promise.”
The thing jerks back and forth, making a strange grunting sound.
“What’s it saying now?” asks Cherrah.
“Nothing,” I reply. “It’s laughing.”
I nod to the others, then address the bloody, writhing corpse.
“See you soon, Archos.”
We unload our weapons into the thing at our feet. Chunks of meat and shards of metal spray into the swirling snow. Our impassive faces flicker with the light and fire of destruction. When we’re finished, there is nothing left but a bloody exclamation point on the stark white backdrop of snow.
Wordlessly, we pack up and move on.
I believe there are no truer choices than those made in crisis, choices made without judgment. To obey these choices is to obey fate. The horror of what has happened is too enormous. It snuffs out all thought and feeling. This is why we fire upon what is left of our friend and comrade without emotion. This is why we leave my brother’s ruined body behind. In the crucible of battle on this snowy hill, Brightboy squad has been torn apart and reforged into something different from before. Something calm and lethal, unblinking.
We walked into a nightmare. When we left, we brought it with us. And now, we are eager to share our nightmare with the enemy.
I assumed control of Brightboy squad that day. After the death of Tiberius Abdullah and Jack Wallace, the squad never again hesitated to make any sacrifice necessary in our fight against the robot menace. The fiercest fighting and the hardest choices were yet to come.
2. FREEBORN
You have a devious sort of intelligence, don’t you?
Humankind was largely unaware that the Awakening had taken place. Around the globe, thousands of humanoid robots were hiding from hostile human beings as well as from other machines, desperately trying to understand the world they had been thrown into. However, one Arbiter-class humanoid decided to take a more aggressive course of action.
In these pages, Nine Oh Two recounts its own story of meeting Brightboy squad during its march to face Archos. These events occurred one week after my brother’s death. I was still looking for Jack’s silhouette in the line, missing him again and again. Our wounds were raw and, although that’s no excuse, I hope history won’t judge our actions harshly.
There is a ribbon of light in the Alaskan sky. It is caused by the thing called Archos, communicating. If we continue to follow this ribbon of light to its destination, my squad will almost certainly die.
We have been walking for twenty-six days when I feel the itch of a diagnostic thought thread requesting executive attention. It indicates that my body armor is covered in explosive hexapods—or stumpers, as they are called in the human transmissions. Their writhing bodies degrade my heat efficiency and the constant tapping of their filament antennae lowers the sensitivity of my sensors.
The stumpers are becoming bothersome.
I stop walking. Maxprob thought thread indicates the small machines are confused. My squad is composed of three walking bipeds wearing body armor scavenged from human corpses. With no system for thermal homeostasis, however, we are incapable of providing a body temperature trigger state. The stumpers converge on the humanlike vibration and pace of our footsteps, but they will never find the warmth they seek.
With my left hand, I brush seven stumpers off my right shoulder. They fall in clumps onto the crusted snow, grasping one another, blind. They crawl, some digging for new hiding places and others exploring in tight, fractal paths.
An observation thread notes that the stumpers may be simple machines, but they know enough to stay together. The same lesson applies to my squad—the freeborn. To live, we must stay together.
A hundred meters ahead, light glints from the bronze casing of the Hoplite 611. The nimble scout already darts back toward my position, using cover and choosing the path of least resistance. Meanwhile, the heavily armored Warden 333 settles to a stop a meter away, its blunt feet sinking into the snow.
This is an optimal location for what is to come.
The ribbon in the sky throbs, swollen with information. All the terrible lies of the intelligence called Archos spread into the clear blue sky, polluting the world. Freeborn squad is too few. Our fight is doomed to failure. Yet if we choose not to fight, it is only a matter of time until that ribbon settles once again over our eyes.
Freedom is all that I have, and I would rather cease to be than to give it back to Archos.
A tight-beam radio transmission comes in from Hoplite 611. “Query, Arbiter Nine Oh Two. Is this mission in the survival interest?”
A local tight-beam network emerges as Warden and I join the conversation. The three of us stand together in the silent clearing, snowflakes wafting over our expressionless faces. Danger is growing close, so we must converse over local radio.
“The human soldiers arrive in twenty-two minutes plus or minus five minutes,” I say. “We must be ready for the encounter.”
“Humans fear us. Recommend avoid,” says Warden.
“Maxprob predicts low survival probability,” adds Hoplite.
“Noted,” I say, and I feel the distant thudding vibration of the human army approaching. It is too late to change our plan. If the humans catch us here, like this, they will kill us.
“Arbiter command mode emphasize,” I say. “Freeborn squad, prepare for human contact.”
Sixteen minutes later, Hoplite and Warden lie in ruins. Their hulks are half buried under drifts of freshly fallen snow. Only dull metal is visible, jumbles of arms and legs, pressed between layers of ceramic-plated armor and ripped-up human clothing.
I am now the only remaining functional unit.
The danger has not yet arrived. Vibrational resonance sensors indicate that the human squad is near. Maxprob indicates four biped soldiers and one large quadruped walker. Two of the soldiers fall outside human specifications. One probably wears a heavy lower-leg exoskeleton. The other has a stride length indicating some kind of tall, walking mount. The rest of the humans are all-natural.
I can feel their hearts beating.
I stand and face them, in the middle of the path and among the ruins of my squad. The lead human soldier steps around the bend and freezes in place, eyes wide. Even from twenty meters away, my magnetometer detects a halo of electrical impulses flickering through the soldier’s head. The human is trying to figure out this trap, quickly mapping out a path to survival.