“Sam swore, too!”
“Don’t try to take my silver star away,” Sam said.
Finally, I found my voice. “Roger, did you record that conversation?”
“I did. However, I noted that there were an astonishing number of security markers and filters and watermarks weaved into both the video and the audio. If this had been recorded using any available software Earthside, it would’ve already locked itself and could be unlocked only by Apex Command. Should we attempt to upload this video, it would be captured by net security, and Apex would receive a detailed message regarding the breach. As such, it appears they knew we’d be recording this and have set a trap of sorts. And if we try to edit out the security features and upload, it will get caught in the anti-AI net. This explains why he is speaking so freely. He believes it’s not possible for any video of this conversation to be shared.”
“That’s just stupid,” Sam said. “Surely people have come up with a work-around by now.”
“There are multiple work-arounds, but none that wouldn’t render the entire video suspect. Even just audio with the voice altered would get filtered out with the security screen. The most recent advances in digital rights management are actually quite interesting.”
The display showing the tablet remained on the screen. The map blinked out, and a countdown timer appeared: ten hours and counting. And underneath the timer was another indicator. “One mass-deployment unit incoming along with three to five additional Regular drop units.”
I felt cold. “Roger, how many are in a mass-deployment unit?”
“It varies based on the nature of the mechs it is deploying, but max capacity is approximately a hundred twenty units.”
“Holy shit,” Sam said.
Roger reached up and removed the silver sticker from the wall.
That would be up to a hundred fifty mechs. Holy shit indeed.
They’ll come tonight,Mr.Gonzales had said.
Chapter 24
Sometime later, I found Tito, Axel, and Sam all in the barn sitting on the ground, their backs to the wooden beams in our band practice cubby. They were passing a bottle around. Vodka from the Serrano ranch. Lulu was there, too, smoking a cigarette, sitting on my bass drum. She wasn’t talking to anyone. Just staring off into space, tapping her leg like she always did, like she had so much energy, her tiny form couldn’t contain it. She’d take a swig when it was her turn and then pass the bottle back to Sam.
For the briefest of moments, the tableau made it appear that nothing was wrong. That I’d just woken up from some bizarre hallucination and I was just coming in from the fields as the guys waited for me. That I was late for band practice like usual, but they didn’t care because band practice rarely consisted of actually practicing. It was mostly an excuse to get away from the overwhelming amount of work we all had. A time for us to sit on the ground, drink free vodka, and not have to think about everything else out there. A small weekly oasis as we traveled through life.
I paused and tried not to let the sight of them all sitting there affect me as much as it was.
Betty Sue, Sam’s adopted chicken, was also in the room scratching on the floor. She let out a little cluck.
There was so much to do, but for the next hour or so, we were “off shift,” according to Roger, while the honeybees and several of the others continued to build the defenses. Rule six. Get plenty of rest. Roger had tasked Mr.Gonzales with the work schedule, and the old man insisted we all keep to it, claiming it was more efficient if we followed the generous break schedule, especially since we now had almost three hundred people on the ranch.
Behind us, the fabricators hummed away. Farmers and honeybees worked in concert to remove pieces from the platform. We now had twelve of the things. Six with the recyclers.
Cindy the gigantic pig had decided to move in near the fabricators, and they had to work around the sleeping creature. The rest of the chickens were also nearby, but they spent most of their time outside in the dirt, scratching and clucking.
A group of refugees had just stumbled into the ranch. Only half of the group from the cliffs had come. The group from the north of Burnt Ends—the ones who’d been forced to scatter when they’d been attacked earlier—was also on its way here, but they’d decided to wait out the night in hiding in another farm in the wooded area between Burnt Ends and Stick-in-the-Mudsville.
After we fended off tonight’s raid, they would get on boats and ride downstream toward us and Roger would send transports to gather them.
That, of course, was assuming we survived tonight.
Rest,I thought bitterly.You’re supposed to be resting.
The drum kit that Lulu sat upon had been carved and made by Grandpa Lewis. He’d carved his initials in the hoop at the front of the bass drum, on which she now sat, and I could see her hand with the lit cigarette silently tracing the letters, causing swirls of smoke to drift in the air.
I sighed and stepped into the space. Nobody said anything as I slid down against the beams, coming to a rest next to Sam. Axel passed the bottle. I took a drink, and the vodka burned as it went down. I held on to the bottle.
Tito held on to his guitar, strumming idly. The handmade semi-hollowbody guitar let out a deep, resonant chord. He paused, then made a grunt and shrugged.
“I agree,” Axel said. “It’s not music.”
“What?” I asked.
