But I don’t stop there, not for a nanosecond. Leaning over 6A, I thrust my welding torch at its turret. The jet of blue flame instantly melts the lens of the robot’s camera. At the same time I swing my left arm again, aiming my saw at 6A’s right hand. The saw’s teeth slice through the wrist joint, and the severed hand falls off the robot’s arm and clatters across the room, its bloodstained fingers still wrapped around the steel bar. But I still don’t stop. I’m in a blind fury now. I whirl my arms in mad circles, hacking and jabbing at the robot on the floor.
By the time I’m finished, Pioneer 6A is a wreck. I stand there for a moment, looking down at the gouged armor and dead circuits. I’m amazed and a little frightened by what I’ve just done. Then I extend one of my arms toward 6A’s half-melted turret. I unscrew the robot’s antenna and carry it to the dented torso of Pioneer 3.
Zia isn’t cursing anymore, but I know she’s still alive from the movement of her camera, which tracks me carefully as I insert the antenna into her turret. After I screw it in, I take a step backward. “Okay, turn on your data transmitter,” I say. “And turn up the power as high as it goes.”
“Armstrong?” The voice coming from Zia’s speakers is incredulous. “That’s you?”
“Yeah, you can thank me later. Right now we have to get out of here.”
“Who was in 6A?”
“It was Sigma. The AI made radio contact with DeShawn’s spare Pioneer and took over its circuits. And now you have to do the same thing. Start searching for an unoccupied robot.”
“Hold on. Are you saying you just killed Sigma?”
I turn my turret clockwise, then counter. “Not even close. Sigma can occupy more than one robot at the same time. That’s why we need to hurry. Now that 6A is out of action, Sigma’s gonna take control of another Pioneer.” Checking the map of the base, I see that Zia’s room is about a hundred yards from where I left Dad. I need to get back there now. “We’re near Jenny’s room. Can you locate Pioneer 2A?”
“Yeah, but the signal’s weak. There’s a ton of junk blocking it.”
“Just start the transfer. Once you’re in 2A, go to the stairway on the western end of Level Four.”
“Why there?”
I’m already striding away, heading out of Zia’s room. “If there’s a clear path to the surface, that’s where it’ll be. Now go!”
Finding my way back to Dad is easy. All I have to do is follow the route through the wreckage that Pioneer 6A carved a few minutes ago. Soon I’m back in the cavernous, rubble-strewn space where my bedroom used to be. First I glimpse the mound of debris that nearly covers the now-unoccupied torso of Pioneer 1A. Then I spot the concrete slab that Dad was hiding under before. I whisper, “Dad?” as I approach, and a moment later he crawls out of his hiding place. His right calf, I notice, glows brightly on my camera’s infrared display. It’s warmer than the rest of his leg because it’s bleeding.
“Adam,” he gasps. “I told you…just save…”
Extending both arms, I slide my steel hands under his body. I lift my father from the rubble and cradle him against my torso. He feels so light in my arms. “No time to argue.” I step forward, flattening bits of concrete with my footpads. “We’ll be out of here in a minute.”
I stride toward the huge pile of debris that slopes up to the jagged ledge on Level Four. My strategy is to retrace Pioneer 6A’s steps; if Sigma could scramble down that mountain of rubble, there’s a good chance I can climb up to the ledge. I shift my grip on Dad, balancing him across the upper sections of my arms while leaving the lower sections free to maneuver. Then I grasp the twisted beam jutting from the rubble and start climbing.
Dad writhes in my arms, clearly in pain. “No, no. You can’t…”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s probably suffering from the early symptoms of radiation sickness—nausea, dizziness, stomach cramps. I have to get him to the surface fast, away from the radioactive wreckage of Pioneer Base. I grip the steel beam and heave myself upward, digging my footpads into the shifting rubble. Then I extend my arms to another handhold, a few feet higher, and do it again.
It takes longer than I expected, but after a couple of minutes I grasp the jagged concrete of the ledge. With a final heave I clamber up to Level Four, still cradling Dad against my torso. Up ahead I catch a glimpse of Stairway B, which looks mostly undamaged. The passage is clear! We can make it to the surface!
But as I stride toward the stairway, another Pioneer comes bounding down the steps. Unfortunately, it’s not Zia—it’s Pioneer 5A, Marshall’s evil twin. As soon as the robot sees me, it charges forward.
I turn around. I have to put Dad in a safe place before I can fight. Retreating toward the ledge, I bend over and set him down on the fractured concrete floor. Then I step away from him and turn back to 5A, but before I can brace myself, the robot barrels into me. Its steel hands sweep downward, ripping the circular saw and the acetylene torch off my arms. At the same time, its torso rams into mine, knocking me down.
Sigma obviously learned a few things from our last fight. After stripping off my saw and torch, 5A straddles my torso and steps on my arms, pinning them to the concrete with its footpads. With my arms immobilized, I can’t rise from the floor. All I can do is flail my legs. The robot leans over me, pointing its camera at my turret.
“My name is Sigma.” The voice coming from its speakers is toneless, neither loud nor soft, neither masculine nor feminine. “Are you Adam Armstrong? The son of Thomas Armstrong?”
I’ve heard those words before. The first time I heard them I was in my father’s office at Unicorp, watching my virtual-reality program. Sigma spoke in Brittany’s voice then, but the wording was the same.
Pioneer 5A waits exactly five seconds before speaking again. “Please answer my question. Are you Adam Armstrong?”
I struggle to free my arms, but 5A is too heavy. “Get off me first! Then I’ll tell you!”
“No, there’s no need. Voice analysis confirms that you’re Adam Armstrong.” The robot pivots its camera, looking me over. Then it turns its turret and points the camera lens at my father, who lies unconscious on the floor. “My facial-recognition software has also found a match. The human is Thomas Armstrong, chief scientist of the AI Laboratory at Unicorp. My father.”
Sigma’s voice is so neutral, so impassive. Hatred scorches my circuits. “Yes, and he’s dying of radiation sickness. If you have any gratitude at all, you’ll help me carry him to the surface.”
Pioneer 5A turns its turret back to me. “I’m aware of your plans to attack Tatishchevo Missile Base. Although the nuclear blast damaged the computers at this installation, I was able to retrieve some of the data from the hard drives.”
Now I feel a burst of fear. I think of Shannon and Jenny and the other Pioneers on the C-17, flying to Russia. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re not planning anything.”
“Unfortunately, many of the hard drives were damaged beyond repair, so my knowledge of your plans is incomplete.” The robot extends one of its mechanical hands, pointing at my torso. “But it’s highly probable that the missing information is in your circuits.”
With its other hand, Pioneer 5A picks up the welding torch it ripped off my arm. After tinkering with the device for several seconds, Sigma figures out how to turn it on. I feel another burst of fear as the blue flame jumps out of the nozzle. I try again to free my arms, but it’s no use. “I told you, I don’t know anything!”