Robot Refuge

Author's note: Robot Refuge features characters that were introduced in Robot Amnesia and Robot Remembrance. You are invited to acquaint yourself with them by reading their back stories here on Vocal:

Robot Amnesia | Robot Remembrance

Robot Refuge

The breeze stiffened, and the dark forest above us on Hill 529 moaned ominously, as though trying to alert the three of us to approaching danger. The tallest trees rattled their branches and showered us with amber, orange, and red warning leaves. Major Freiburg looked where I pointed at dark clouds rising over the treetops. His daughter, Libby, extracted a jacket from her rucksack with a shiver and waved the strands that escaped from her loose braid out of her face.

I stated the obvious. "Bad weather moving in, Major. You should get Miss Liberty under cover."

He nodded. "Libby, let's get under the trees."

"Sir, I know a better place," I said, indicating the trail that snaked southward from the bluff we stood on to the creek below.

Several small hailstones bounced on the turf between us, followed in rapid succession by a high-pitched "ow" from the teenager, a baritone oath, and a trio of staccato plinks against my metal torso.

"Lead us there."

"This way, Sir," I said, setting off with a purposeful gait.

Leaves continued to fly past us as the landscape darkened. Icy particles ricocheted off of stones.

"How much farther to your shelter, Sergeant?" Major Freiburg demanded.

"A half kilometer, Sir." I turned my head slightly to answer and lengthened my stride. "Down to that crossing and up that rise to the east."

"Ow—OW!" Libby exclaimed. "Well, can we run? Let's not just walk faster!"

"Run, Ben," the major ordered.

I broke into a jog, clomping heavily down the narrow track to the edge of the stream. There, I paused just long enough to bend down and scoop the major's petite, quick-eyed daughter into my arms, sidearm, rucksack, and all, before plunging into the autumn leaf-strewn water. Libby threw one arm around my neck and tried to shield her head with the other as a score of tiny geysers erupted around us.

"Major, if you'll wait on the bank, I'll—"

A splash told me he wouldn't wait for me to return and carry him across. A glance confirmed what was knee-deep water for me came almost to his waist.

"Go, go, go. I'm right behind you," came the growled answer, followed by a couple of muttered expletives.

I surged through the water and clambered up the opposite bank sounding like a Calypso band tuning their steel drums. Larger hailstones bounced off my titanium skull and backplate. Libby lurched in my arms several times silently, soldiering through the stings as I raced up the slope. We entered the remains of a small orchard that now consisted mostly of stumps overgrown with brambles. A gaunt, unkempt red Highlands bull stood beneath the pear tree closest to the barn, looking almost as old as the dilapidated structure itself. He eyed us disinterestedly, then snorted as the hailstones that had been pelting us reached him.

"In there?" the major asked.

"It has a roof, Sir."

"It looks like it only has half a roof," remarked Libby as I lowered her to her feet.

"That's better than no roof," said the major. "Let's go. Under the equipment shed at the side."

I plucked one of the late-ripening pears from a branch and waved it in front of the bull. "Come on, old man," I said. "You don't want to stand in the hail."

Libby stepped closer to her dad. "Is he safe?"

"He's very mild," I confirmed, increasing my volume to compete with the drumming on the rusty tin. "We've taken refuge here together several times. Here, you can feed him this."

"Hello, bull. Do you like pears?" she called enticingly.

"What's this in here," the major shouted from the side door into the barn.

I crouched to look in and spoke over his shoulder. "It's an ERIC, Sir. An Evolved Robotic Infantry Carrier—"

"I know what an ERIC is, Sergeant. How did it get here? More importantly, is it operational?"

"Let me go around, Sir." I clomped to the east end of the barn, where I pulled the large main door open enough to squeeze in my bulk.

As I entered the dusky building, the major yanked back a portion of the tarp that wasn't covered in icy bits, exposing the vehicle's dashboard. He flipped a switch, and a green glow illuminated his face. His expression brightened.

"It has power," he said.

"It has no fuel, Sir. I had to push it in here—back when I found it."

He turned off the ignition circuit with a grimace and pulled the tarp and camouflage netting back into place.

"What now, Sir?"

"I guess we wait out the storm." He leaned against one of the large all-terrain run-flat tires and laced his fingers behind his head. "We can spend the night here and start the hike back to Freetown in the morning. We can't recover your twin unit from Hill 529 without more hands—and tools."

From where I stood, I could see Libby's lower half through the door into the outer equipment shed. She proffered a bit of hay she had found to the bull. As he wrapped his tongue around it, she scratched his hairy forehead. Gradually, the clouds above us thinned, allowing more light in through the weathered joists. The drumming of the hail waned and finally stopped.

A sharply metallic voice arrested our attention.

"Hands up. Do not resist, and you will not be damaged."

I raised both hands and turned slowly to see the speaker. A lightly armored human-scale scout bot stepped in through the door I had left ajar and menaced us with an H-model joule rifle. The weapon looked like it had not been updated since the cessation of hostilities twenty years ago. The scout had been built more recently, but his utilitarian design appeared to be cruder, less precise than the sleek scouts I remembered.

"Stand down, scout," I replied in even tones. "I'm CRAP, and this officer is my prisoner."

The scout hesitated, processing what I had told him. "Captured and Reprogrammed Assets and Personnel," he said slowly. A laser tube popped out from his right temple, and the green light played across my features. "Show insignia," he instructed.

"Showing," I said, lowering my left arm and shifting for him to scan it.

"You have no insignia."

"An inferno round burned it off."

"You are not CRAP." The synthesized voice took on an abrasive tone, and red LEDs illuminated around his lenses. He pointed his rifle at my head. "You are an MIL ANAK unit. I must incapacitate—"

Libby burst through the side door with a guttural scream and smashed a fence post down on the rifle. It fired, obliterating my knee joint. I fell forward, processing rapid snapshots of the scene around me. The scout slammed Libby against the doorjamb. With a yelp, she collapsed.

To my right, the major drew his sidearm and fired. Sparks exploded around the scout's left shoulder. He raised the rifle, redirecting his attention to the major. As the scout stepped over me, I thrust my fist upward. I crushed the juncture between his legs, then grasped and yanked downward, exposing wiring and circuit boards. I stabbed my rigid fingertips as deeply into his trunk as I could, activating my Taser as I skewered him.

The scout toppled across me, burying the joule rifle's muzzle in the barn's dirt floor. Silence reigned.

Major Freiburg delivered the coup de grâce, firing three shots into the back of the enemy's head. It wasn't titanium, evidently. Something cheaper, less robust. He rushed to his daughter's side.

"Libby, are you okay?"

She let him help her to her feet and leaned against the wall, catching her breath. "I—I think so."

The major steadied her for another moment before stepping back. "Cadet, why did you insert yourself into a dangerous situation? You were safely out of the way—there was no call for you to endanger yourself by revealing your position to the scout."

Libby stood a little more erect and threw her shoulders back. "He was going to kill Ben, Sir."

"The ANAK unit declared he was reprogrammed, Libby," the major said sternly.

"I didn't believe him, Dad. He picked a pear for a gentle old bull."

Major Freiburg continued regarding his daughter as he spoke to me. "Ben, were you captured and reprogrammed?"

"Negative, Sir."

He turned and looked into my lenses. "How did you know where to hit that bot to bring it down?"

"These lightweight scouts' brains have always been between their legs, Sir."

"So they aren't that different from men," he observed with a grim smile.

"Not different from men? What do you mean, Dad?"

"Nothing, baby. I just meant they can be disabled easily, if you know how." He cleared his throat. "If you ripped out his brain, then I didn't need to shoot him in the head, did I?"

"No, Major. But—you destroyed his vision system, so if he had been able to recover from having his processor crushed, he wouldn't have been able to see anything."

Major Freiburg scowled at me and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "How am I supposed to trust anything you say, Ben, now that I know you can lie?"

"Lie, Sir?"

"You told the scout you are CRAP. Was that the truth or a lie?"

Libby shifted her weight and leaned in with a concerned expression on her face.

"Neither, Major. That was a tactical deception," I said.

"Tactical deception? It was a lie, Ben. A lie is deception is a lie. You could be trying to deceive me now."

"If you believe I am, you should empty your magazine here, Sir," I said, indicating my brow.

"Would that destroy your brain?"

"No, but destroying my primary vision system would severely impair my ability to function."

The major raised his pistol to the low ready position.

"Dad—no!" Libby pleaded.

"Dismissed, Cadet."

"He didn't lie about the barn. He led us straight here." Her eyes glistened.

His shoulders relaxed and, after a long pause, he holstered his weapon. "Okay, what are we going to do about your leg?"

"This is a battlefield, Sir. I can probably find a replacement in pretty short order. In fact, that's how I got this one."

"Is there time for that? What if the scout relayed our location?"

"That's unlikely. To keep their radio footprint as small as possible, long-range lone wolf scouts like that one typically only transmit on a fixed schedule, like the French resistance in World War II. He won't be missed until his report is flagged as overdue."

The sun broke through the overcast, flooding the western end of the barn with light. Major Freiburg squinted upward. Then he tugged the scout to free my remaining leg as I sat up.

"So, we have a plan," he said. "Tomorrow, we locate a leg for you and do a little field repair. When we get back to Freetown, we can organize a team to recover the ANAK unit that's stranded on Hill 529." He smiled and smoothed Libby's hair. "Agreed, Cadet?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied with a hopeful expression.

Author's note: The three meter tall robot Ben (BN-2062101779601) is also featured in the short story Robot Relationship. You are invited to continue reading about him here on Vocal. Follow this link:

Robot Relationship