He’d shot a missile at me. The little shit had tried to kill me. Had he seen me? Or was the missile heat-seeking?
Roger appeared, emerging from the reeds, flying low. He circled me worriedly, clicking. “Oliver, how are your bones? Are you ambulatory?”
“You pissed it off,” I said. “What happened to it?”
“I cut a support on its damaged leg, and then I lured it to take a step, which caused it to stumble down the hill. I located the locomotion governor and removed it. I believe it is now disabled from making any further movement, though I have not discovered how to interfere with the audio and visual feeds. I believe it is using a communication system I am unfamiliar with. You need to move and get back to the ranch. I have detected a second radio signal farther back. Perhaps a relay to a drop ship, which suggests more of these may be on the way. I am going to investigate while you retreat. The tutoring session is now over. I have implemented the perimeter-defense protocol.”
“What the hell is that?”
“I don’t care how much it costs! It’s my birthday, Mom!” the mech screeched. “It’s broken! The stupid thing is broken!”
“You must proceed back to the ranch, Oliver,” Roger said.
“What about rule number one?” I asked.
“Perimeter defense takes precedence. Please, Oliver, you must flee.”
I stood all the way up. I had to wipe blood from my eye. I could see the mech now facing forward and down in the mud and reeds, broken at the base of the forward hill. It was wrecked. Its main gun had snapped off the egg shape of the body and lay bent. Its purple Mohawk strands had broken off in the fall. Various metal pieces lay scattered about. It didn’t move at all, though the voice continued to shriek, slightly muffled in the mud.
Holy crap,I thought. My arms were shaking.This is real. That thing is really here.
“It can’t move?”
“I don’t believe it can,” Roger said. “But I cannot say with full certainty it can’t harm you.”
“Do you know where it came from?” I asked. “Or why it’s here?”
“I am still analyzing it. The label on the side of the vehicle identifies it as a ‘Model 103.08a Recon Drop Dragoon. Base Edition by Apex Industries.’ I attempted to look up the Apex Industries website to get specific info on this unit to gather more information, but the global feed is down. I am moving to theForlornconnection, but it is slower. There appears to be a barely legible call sign under the model designator. The etching says ‘Hobie Martin,’ but that name is crossed out with the same simulated spray paint that covers the rest of the vehicle. Under it, written in astonishingly messy penmanship, is a group of nonsensical letters and symbols.” He then proceeded to spit out a bunch of characters that I couldn’t parse.
“Let me see it,” I said.
Roger’s dirty and cracked underbelly display flickered, revealing a still of the side of the mech. I felt a chill when I saw it.
X_SuBhuM@nSlæy3r_X.
“I think it says ‘Subhuman Slayer,’ ” I said, whispering the words. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that term. Last night, everyone had been following some commentary from an Earth news program. Some Earthers had been calling us that.
Subhuman.
They called us that because our genes had been altered so we could better survive on this planet. The change was subtle. We looked the same. Acted the same. We could have babies with one another. When we were side by side, nobody would know the difference. Yet, for some reason, it’d become a thing.
But that was nothing new. We weren’t the first colony to do something to raise the ire of the Earthers. Them being xenophobic was their thing. None of that explained what this kid was doing here.
“We need to tell the others,” I said. “There’s gotta be more of them.”
“I have already informed your sister of the incident. She has yet to respond. She is likely still asleep. It appears the communication network with Burnt Ends is down. I have overridden Trixie 2’s maintenance schedule and dispatched her to the town to deliver a message to the mayor, per the procedures of the perimeter-defense protocol.”
“You can talk to Lulu but not to the city?”
“My connection with you, your sister, and the hive is utilizing theForlorn’s connection, not the public satellites. Communication with Burnt Ends relies solely on the municipal feed. It appears all in-range satellites are out of commission. Now you must get out of the combat zone.”
This can’t be happening.This can’t be real.
“Hey,” I called, talking loudly. “Hobie, that you?” I took a tentative step toward the face-down robot. It did not move.
I hadn’t been planning on saying anything. It just came out.
“What?” the robot asked. “Who’s that? Who’s there?”
