Power in the Hands of One by Ian Lewis Read Free Book Online Page A

sense of equilibrium; the way the shell of the cockpit tips with each stride of the robot makes me think I’ll go with it, but instead I remain balanced.
    I’m not far into the field when it’s apparent I have no idea where to go. It’s too dark to locate any tracks left behind from the first machine, though it will be daylight soon. This presents its own problem in that I will be easy to spot.
    Halting approximately a half mile from the hangar, I fiddle once again with the controls. There has to be some form of GPS or navigation. I locate a menu for the weapons systems as well as what appear to be various tactical modes of which the machine can assume. Continued scrolling brings me to a menu called “Satellites/Positioning.”
    I select this and find submenus for Radar, LIDAR, SODAR, Phone, and GPS. Happily, GPS provides an interface much like one would find on the Internet to get directions to the nearest coffee shop. A few clicks on the keyboard and I have a map of Lockworth.
    Due north will take me into more rural, undeveloped land. There is an abandoned quarry there; it’s the best chance of remaining undetected while I think things through.
    Right and left, back and forth; I work the control arms in as smooth a motion as possible, trying to find some rhythm to minimize the awkward lope of the robot. In return, the giant trudges along barren fields waiting to sprout new life, the gray slivers of dawn casting a dull glow on the edge of the video screen.
    I continue like this for twenty minutes, afraid to increase my pace for fear of losing control. My empty stomach is queasy from a combination of leftover adrenaline and the maddening balancing act of the command chair.
    When I think I can see the open pit of the quarry, a darker splotch on an already dark horizon, the visage of Thomas Worthington once again appears on the main monitor. I would ignore him except for the fact that his presence is accompanied by an override of most of the controls.
    Thomas begins in his resonating bellow. “You have assumed command; now you are in control. But for how long, it is not certain. The birth you witnessed was the second. There was one before, one whose directives are not the same.”
    Cocky, I decide to converse with whatever it is I’m talking to. “You mean the first machine—the one stolen by the Illuma Corp.” Maybe it’s a mistake, but I ignore the passing thought that I’m talking to the robot itself.
    “Your brother is waiting—waiting for a directive you must issue.”
    “My brother? What brother? What directive?”
    Thomas doesn’t answer; instead, he scowls before disappearing.
    The cockpit comes back to life, the lights and screens fluctuating as if they’d never quit. The rightmost monitor, up to this point a blank desktop, becomes active and spews forth a litany of information followed by a message which indicates it is “tracking.” The cursor flashes for three seconds before another map appears—a more intricate map of Lockworth.
    My location near the quarry is indicated by a green dot labeled as ADS02. Maybe fifteen miles away is a flashing red dot, labeled ADS01. The other machine…
    I zoom in on this portion of the map and select the option for a satellite view of the terrain. A secluded cluster of structures appears, set far off any of the main roads. In italics, it’s labeled as “Western Lights.”
    Western Lights is a gated community—exclusive resort living for the ultra rich—but it never caught on. Development halted after the first phase. I’m not even sure if there are residents.
    Is my “brother” the other machine? What directive am I supposed to give? I don’t want to play into Thomas’s insanity, or whatever he’s programmed into this thing. I push on toward the quarry, ignoring the red blip on the map.
    Another five hundred feet and I am overlooking the gouge of stripped earth, void and hollow in the early-morning light. My intent is to hide as much of the machine as