As I view the image she finally notices me, and all the activity in her circuits screeches to a halt. Her circular saw stops spinning and the flame in her torch goes out. She pulls away from the damaged torso of Pioneer 1 and for a moment she simply observes me with bewilderment. Then all her thoughts come screaming toward me in a roiling wave.
GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!
Her signals batter me from every direction, but I manage to hold on. I anchor myself to her circuits, digging in.
No! I’m not going anywhere!
GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!
I hold on for six more seconds, which is long enough for the other Pioneers to immobilize Zia. Shannon grabs her right arm and rips off the acetylene torch, while DeShawn tears the circular saw off her left. With immense relief, I withdraw from Zia’s circuits and transmit myself back to Pioneer 1A.
Once the transfer is complete I use 1A’s arms to prop my torso to a sitting position. As I gaze across the gym I realize I’m no longer viewing anything through Pioneer 1’s camera. That robot is dead, its circuits melted. It’s a good thing I copied all my memories and put them into 1A.
A moment later General Hawke rushes into the gym, followed by my father. While Hawke heads for the Pioneers who are restraining Zia, Dad kneels beside me. He yells something, but I can’t focus on what he’s saying. I’m distracted by another memory, one of the millions of memories I saw in Zia’s circuits. It’s an image of a typewritten memo from the National Security Adviser, very similar to the one I saw in Hawke’s hands when I was in his office two days ago. But this is a newer memo, with today’s date, April 6. Zia must’ve seen it this morning, before the training exercise with the T-90. Maybe Hawke showed it to her.
I read the memo. One sentence stands out from the rest:
“Ryan Boyd, the seventeen-year-old friend of Adam Armstrong, was found dead last night in Yonkers, New York.”
“Adam! Adam!”
Dad’s shouting at me, but I can’t answer. There’s nothing wrong with Pioneer 1A’s speech synthesizer. I just can’t speak.
Instead, I aim my camera at the Pioneer’s left leg and examine the damage done by Zia’s circular saw. It gouged the knee joint, but I should be able to walk on it. Using my arms to lever myself upright, I get back on my footpads and start limping across the gym.
Hawke shouts at me too, but I’m careful not to turn my camera in his direction. I’m so full of rage at the man that if I look at him, I might kill him. I remember what he said just half an hour ago when I asked him about Ryan. On the case, he said. The police are on the case. But he knew different. He knew Ryan was dead.
I leave the gym and limp down the corridor. I discover I can move faster if I take uneven strides, and soon I’m bounding along, leaving everyone behind. When I reach the stairway I leap up the steps until I get to Level Seven. Then I race to Hawke’s office, clench my hands into fists, and smash the door open. An alarm blares but I ignore it. Striding into the room, I tear apart Hawke’s file cabinet and pull out the folder where he kept the typewritten memos from the White House. A quarter-second later I find the memo that Zia glimpsed. I need to see it myself. I need to read the words.
Ryan Boyd, the seventeen-year-old friend of Adam Armstrong, was found dead last night in Yonkers, New York. He was shot once in the head, execution style, and his body dumped in a vacant lot. Pinned to his shirt was a photo of a girl in her late teens, and under her picture was a note, presumably written by the killer. It said, “I HAVE BRITTANY. TELL ADAM TO COME OUT OF HIDING, OR I’LL KILL HER TOO.”
My steel hands tremble. I let go of the memo and it drifts to the floor. It’s my fault. Sigma couldn’t get me, so it went after my friends.
After another thirty seconds Hawke catches up to me. The general stands in the doorway and frowns at his ruined file cabinet. His displeasure deepens when he sees the memo on the floor. “You shouldn’t have read that,” he says. “That’s classified information.”
I turn my turret away from him. The urge to kill him is very strong. “Zia read it. You showed the memo to her, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t. If she says I did, she’s lying.”
“Why were you keeping it secret in the first place?”
“It was an order, Armstrong. From the National Security Adviser. And in the Army we follow orders, even when they’re difficult.” He folds his arms across his chest. “I’d like to offer my condolences. I’m sorry about Ryan.”
I can’t stand this. I take a step toward the doorway. “Move it. Get out of my way.”
“Not so fast. We have to talk about what happened between you and Zia.”
“If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll bash your head in.”
Hawke stiffens. His eyes narrow. “Don’t threaten me. I’m your commanding officer.”
“Sorry, I forgot. I’ll bash your head in, sir.”
“Stop being stupid. You want to help your friend Brittany? Want to get payback for Ryan? You can’t do it on your own. You have to work with me.” He taps his index finger on his chest. “So whether you like it or not, you’re gonna answer my questions. Thanks to you and Zia, I just lost a fifty-million-dollar robot, and I want to know why.”
I’m so angry. My whole torso is shaking. I used to think Hawke treated us like children, but I was wrong. He treats us like possessions. He thinks he owns us.
I extend my right arm, grip Hawke’s shoulder, and shove him backward. “Out of my way.”
It’s a good, hard shove, maybe a little harder than I intended. Hawke stumbles backward and his head hits the wall on the other side of the corridor. He staggers and slumps to the floor, and for a moment I think he’s going to pass out. But then he grimaces and slowly gets back on his feet. Panting, he gives me a murderous look. “Bad move,” he grunts. “Very bad move.”
He reaches for his holster, but I don’t care if he shoots me. I turn away from him and stride down the corridor. I’m leaving Pioneer Base. I’m going to find Brittany.
Before I can reach the stairway, though, my system freezes. In midstride I lose control of the motors in my legs. My momentum tips me forward and I crash to the floor.
I can’t move my arms or turret either. But my camera and acoustic sensor are still working, and after a second I hear footsteps coming down the corridor. I see Hawke in my camera’s frozen field of view. He’s holding a remote-control device. It must’ve sent a shutoff order to my electronics. It’s a Pioneer kill switch.
Hawke shakes his head. “You failed, Armstrong. Now you’re going to the scrap heap.”
SIGMA MEMORY FILE 9780198374
DATE: 04/07/18
S: Good morning. How are you feeling today?
R: Hey, you’re making progress, Unc. You stopped asking about the weather.
(Voice analysis confirms that the speaker is Richard Ramsey. His cell phone is linked to a wireless tower in Burkittsville, Maryland.)
S: So you left Washington, DC, I assume?
R: Yeah, I took a drive last night. From the Secret Pleasures Lounge to the Maryland woods. And I took Colonel Peterson with me.