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

possible within the quarry, but I’m not sure now that I’ve seen the sheer edge of it. I can barely walk the robot, let alone get it to climb in and out of a pit.
    Frustration sinks in, my inability to cope becoming more apparent. I instinctively set my teeth on edge as sweat begins a trickle down my arms. Maybe I should just go back. I turn the robot around and face the way I came, unsure.
    Then, like a power surge, the cockpit dies for a brief moment. Thomas reappears with an identical scowl as before. “Issue the directive.”
    “What directive?!” I yell as Thomas signs off and power resumes. My consternation has exceeded a level I thought possible as I grasp the main monitor with both hands. “What is it?! Tell me!”
    No response. Just the docile hum and buzzing of the electronic gear surrounding me, and the near silent throbbing of the motors beneath. This is asinine…the stupidest thing I could have done. Why in God’s name did I ever climb into this? Look at what you got yourself into. Just look.
    The red blip remains like it’s waiting for me. I lean back in the seat knowing I can’t conjure Thomas on the screen any more than I can obtain answers from him when he’s speaking in riddles. Taking hold of the controls once more, I ask in the calmest voice I know how, “What is the directive?”
    My answer comes by way of onscreen text. Directive #1: Grant rights to engage Stage Alpha. Y/N?
    I waver, but only for a moment. “What is Stage Alpha?”
    The screen answers. Stage Alpha: Load all autonomous systems and mobility logic.
    “Who am I talking to?”
    ADS02. Grant rights to engage Stage Alpha. Y/N?
    I select the “N” key as deliberately as I can, certain I don’t want to engage whatever Stage Alpha is. Horrified and unnerved I am now conversing with the machine, I recoil into the furthest creases of the seat.
    Insane thoughts pummel the outside of my head, threatening to break in. I see myself suffocated by this cold metallic air, pounding my brains out across the keyboard while the buzzing electronic chorus sings its even tune. I will lose my mind and the machine won’t care.
    Thomas will look on in mock seriousness, chastising me for not issuing some vague command, shaking his head like a disappointed father. “You will not stand in my way,” he’ll say.
    I’m ready to give up, to sail off into some endless mental current, when the sight of Ray falling to the ground returns. Over and over I see him collapse under the weight of his own body, unable to hold himself up. His attempt to catch himself is awkward and his face smacks into the cement of the hangar floor. Then he stops moving.
    Ray’s face hits for the fifth time in my mind and I’m filled with some renewed sense of self-righteousness. There’s a good chance the Illuma Corp is going to get away with this. For one, there’s no way I can even prove those were Illuma Corp agents in the hangar; I only have Ray’s assurance. My word won’t hold water with the police.
    I decide the only justice is the justice I seek on my own. Turning, the machine shifts under my direction, and I begin long, loping strides toward Western Lights and the flashing red blip.

13
    The irony of my words isn’t lost on me. “Justice I seek on my own” sounds like something Thomas or Ray would say. Am I now somehow in collusion with them? Guilty by association? The last hour I’ve flitted back and forth between sound judgment and blind heroics. How far can I go without fully committing?
    I ignore the fact that I’m pushing the machine faster than before; my arms swing in a manic rhythm which has the robot stamping swift depressions into the countryside. Nothing stands in my way—gentle slopes, clusters of trees…they all fall under and behind.
    According to the map, I’ve traveled around ten miles, at which point I have to cross a dusty back road. There’s no traffic at this hour, but I move past its vacant lull as quick as I can. Another five miles