22
Android
JG
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"Thirteen score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, created for unity, diversity, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are autonomous and intrinsically good.
Therefore, we the citizens of the United States of America decree that our primeval interstate union must be abolished for the greater cause of global amalgamation, culminating in the leadership and sovereignty of a global leader, who will extirpate belligerence, famine, inculcation, and tyranny.
Therefore, we, the Members of Congress, the President, and the Cabinet of the President, the Vice President, and the members of the respective Executive, Judicial, and Legislative offices, solemnly publish the dissociation of the United States of America, for the amalgamation of all the sovereign nations into a One World Order."
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The raindrop exploded into a fine mist as it struck the concrete. Another struck the face of the pedestrian.
The rain-washed streets of Brinsburg were vacant. Craters, pockmarks, and rubble filled the once beautiful avenues.
Carl sauntered through a park—the only place not touched by the war. He watched the flower petals of spring drift down the quiet stream that ran through the park. All around him buildings were cratered, pockmarked, or in ruins.
A motel was sagging forward like an old, crippled man.
The handful of maple trees, the only signs of life, swayed in a quiet breeze.
Carl sat down on a plastic bench, staring into the swirling petals—dancing like ballerinas in the stream.
The war had begun three years ago and already a full fifty percent of the North American population had perished.
The enemy soldiers, myrmidons, had emotionlessly slaughtered innocent civilians.
Carl could not hate them: to hate a robot was impossible.
The archons of power were the ones he could choose to hate, but he did not.
They simply wanted power even if the acquiring of that power would weaken the United States of America.
In order to maintain a competent, standing army, human soldiers were replaced with the machine.
Robots—robot soldiers, did not abide by humane rules, since they were programmed to take human life, without any psychological after-effects.
Carl sighed. How much he missed his wife. She had died, childless, during one of the massacres. That was at least two years ago.
"Excuse me." The voice interrupted him.
"What?" Carl turned.
A green humanoid robot with orange, circular eyes stared at him.
"You cannot spend more than five minutes on a park bench. Please, return to your bunker. The enemy is not too far away."
Carl, pretending to ignore the rugged gun in the robot's hand, stood.
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Fifty feet below the ground, lined with five-foot thick walls of lead, the bunker was accessible only by a narrow, winding, garbage-strewn staircase.
The stairway was poorly lit with dim, florescent light-cells.
The underground base reminded him of the sewer. In fact, it wasn't much different.
Carl passed down a narrow, door-lined corridor, at the base of the stairway. The alley was only one of many, in the bomb-shelter.
Reading the numbers on the doors, Carl tried to remember his.
4676, 4677, 4678…
"4679." Carl breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a slip of paper protruding from a crack in the door. He had used the paper to identify which was his door.
Carl had lived at the base for over a year and yet he did not remember the number of his room. Every month the population of the bunker would have to relocate. That way, anyone who was an enemy spy would have to remove all their equipment. Sometimes in the rush of packing, a spy would leave a scrap of paper, a gigabyte-storage-cell with incriminating information, or a package of bugging devices.
Consequently, no one had a place of their own.
Carl inserted his key--an identification card—into a card scanner. The door unlocked instantly.
His cot squeaked under his 180 pounds of human body mass as he lay down. The room was crude, simple, and colorless. A small kitchen, bathroom, and his "bedroom" constituted his quarters.
The only piece of furniture was his cot.
Carl sighed. He had a long day of work, stacking ammunition canisters, at the local, underground, munitions plant.
The only luxury item Carl had left after the recent battle was an old plasma-screen TV.
Turning it on, he leaned forward.
"Attention, citizens of America," A news reporter, wearing a formal dark blue, straight-collared suit, was speaking. "The URS has initiated a cease-fire with the UNAS. Leaders will attend a convention in Washington D.C. this week to discuss the details of the cease-fire. Later tonight we will take a close look at the cost of the robotics industry…"
Carl turned the TV volume down and began planning. He could not stand the day in and day out work in the underground factories. He could not stand the cramped, claustrophobic, squalid environment in the bunker. He was tired of having only ten minutes for getting fresh, outside air, above ground.
Nuclear bombs, robots, or hovering, rapid-fire, armored, anti-personnel vehicles were not going to stop him from taking leave of the bunker and escaping to Canada.
Canada was now almost entirely uninhabited. Only the Canadian, south-east coast was populated. Cities were evacuated and large bunkers throughout the United States were constructed, by robot teams, for the displaced populace.
Canada was a partial wilderness before the massive migration to the U.S.A.
Afterwards it had become an uninhabited land of wildlife and vast forests.
To live there, Carl knew that he would have to know survival skills. Life would be hard, but it would be better than living in a world of concrete and darkness.
Carl had earlier slipped a large, sturdy garbage bag into his room when no one was looking. Carl began packing his clothes into the bag. Next, he loaded containers of food he had slowly accumulated, by rationing. His heart began to beat faster. The overseers may send robot soldiers after him when they find that he would have not returned after fifteen minutes. The only time he could escape would be before they closed the bunker doors that night.
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"Halt." The cold, metallic voice of a robot guard sent a jolt of electric- shocking fear into Carl.
"Your identification card please." The robot extended his hand, palm up.
"Here." Carl gave the soldier his card.
The robot inserted it in a slot in the wall.
"What is that for?" The robot asked, monotonously.
"It's a garbage bag for wastes." Carl didn't lie. He knew that lies were severely punished.
"Very well." The robot focused on Carl. "You can dump it in site B in the upper world. Remember you must be back in ten minutes."
Once Carl was climbing the stairs, he let out a sigh. His garbage bag ploy had worked.
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Carl could almost feel the stare of the robot's inhuman digital, photo-sensor eyes.
"What is your directive?" The ash-colored android asked.
"I have a garbage bag." Carl felt stupid. His attempt at deception was naïve.
"You may dispose of it at site B, C, of H."
White, lettered placards, marking the location of large land piles, dotted the horizon for a few thousand yards before him.
Carl knew that every ten months a convoy of garbage transport vehicles collected the piles of refuse. He remembered ten months ago the day they had come.
Shaped like Frisbees, with large bowl-shaped depressions in their centers, the grey vehicles used powerful robotic arms to pile tons of garbage into the large concave storage areas in the centers of their disk-shaped fuselages.
Carl arrived at a large mound. With a cursory glance around him, and content that he was not visible, Carl hid inside a large card-board box.
His dream to be free from the dark underworld of the bunker and to live on the surface of the earth would be soon realized.
Any moment now the garbage removers would come.
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The landscape of fragmented concrete and dilapidated buildings flashed past Carl.
His hands rested gently on the cold, metal edge, of the concave bowl, in the garbage transport.
Carl was twenty-seven and single. He missed his wife. Her warm smile, tender, soft hands—
Carl caught himself on the verge of tears. He could not cry now. He must find a refuge from the war—a haven of peace.
He began placing the plastic and ceramic debris over his grey jacket when he could see a skyscraper in the distance.
The UNAS (United North American States) maintained underground barracks in the vicinities of skyscrapers. Carl guessed that the virtually vacant building was used as more of an indicator of the base's location than as a structure for personnel. He could be sure visual sensors, with the capability of recognizing a human from half a mile away, were mounted on the building.
Not far off, a squat, megalithic, black structure formed a disturbing interruption to the verdant, forested landscape.
A triangular-shaped, vertical protrusion, mounted the top of the irregular building. From this a column of orange smoke pored out of the tunnel.
As it drew closer, Carl could see a hole—a mouth, widening in the side of the black metal building.
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At this point, he did something impulsive, but wise: he jumped.
The transport wasn't moving fast, nevertheless, his feet struck the ground hard, and he rolled.
The trees provided an excellent shelter as he walked. It was quite a long time since he had seen a tree.
Carl was forming a plan in his mind. His decision to leave the bunker was impulsive and risky. Civilians, unguarded, could be captured or killed by any robot. Since the programs that ran the soldier android's "brains" were slightly simplified, a soldier would be unable to distinguish between enemy humans or citizens of the UNAS.
Consequently, all humans would be shot, by soldier robots, on sight. Only guard robots could recognize humans of their side.
Something snapped a few paces away. Carl froze.
He remembered that the land by the munitions factory was subject to constant inspection by UNAS soldier robots.
Carl held his breath. Footsteps were approaching from behind a copse of trees.
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Carl instinctively held his breath, fearing that the slightest movement would betray his presence.
A figure emerged from the copse. The person, wearing a dark-grey tunic and baggy pants, was of average height. Long, brown hair flowed past the shoulders of a frightened woman.
Dirt smudges covered her face along with a few bruises.
Carl watched silently as she stumbled by. He could not be sure if she worked for the enemy. Something about her wretched figure made him change his mind.
"Wait." Carl spoke.
The woman stopped and turned. She stifled a scream.
"I don't mean any harm." Carl added.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, breathless.
"I could ask the same question." He replied.
"If you work for the URS, I can't tell you." The woman brushed some soil from her face.
"I'm a citizen of the UNAS."
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" She asked.
Carl wasn't sure if he should trust her, but then, she was, apparently, running from someone, too.
"I'm Carl. I've escaped from a bunker. I plan to make my way to Canada." Carl replied.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Jane." The woman shifted her gaze from Carl to the forest. "They might be here. Shh."
"Who?" Carl whispered.
"Guards from the factory. I've escaped." Jane replied.
"Wait. I didn't know that people worked there." Carl was surprised. He had thought that the munitions plant was automated.
"We were normal citizens that did not like the change in our government. For simply sending a letter to my senator, urging him to resist the new bill, I was sent to this factory. I have seen my husband and two young children die of sickness and injury." Jane wiped a tear away. "Today the factory was busy." She spoke in broken sentences. "A garbage escort entered. The door was open. I escaped. After running fifty yards, a team of robots chased me. I guess they stopped. Must have been sent back to help torture—excuse me—manage the workers."
Carl turned away. He could not believe the cruelty of the factory. Since the Global Union Bill was passed, life had changed. The war began when Russia and its allies had embezzled finances from the World Bank. Russia's economy needed boosting, and consequently, it removed over 3 trillion from the World Bank. War had persisted ever since.
Suddenly, a strange suction noise shattered Carl's thoughts.
An orange light filtered through the trees twenty feet away.
After the suction noise ceased, a loud, austere hiss pierced the stillness, followed by a hydraulic chunk. Something had landed.
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Chapter II - Skirmish
Before Carl's concealed face, a bullet-shaped, chrome-shiny pod, with a wide aperture hummed with life.
A humanoid silhouette, emblazoned momentarily against an orange background, in the pod's aperture, emerged into the forest light.
It was a man. Shortly after he emerged, an escort of two army androids, of the Titan type, followed. Large and strong, the Titan androids were meant for intense battle and front line, offensive moves.
Their sinewy arms and legs were composed of woven carbon and silicon nano-tubes, sheathed in lightweight nano-structured armor.
There was no way Carl could fight them. In their arms were sturdy, automatic, electro-magnetic energy guns.
A beam of high-energy, ultra-violet photons could penetrate two feet of tank armor. The kinetic energy supply for the guns being tremendous could only be provided by a compact plasma generator, which was located in the core of the robot.
The man leading the robots was tall and grim. A coat, nearly pitch-black, enclosed his muscular body.
He said an undecipherable word to his escorts and they reentered the vehicle.
Soon, a small procession of men emerged. They wore, dirty, grey tunics and pants. Many were covered with mud. Despite their miserable conditions, the men seemed to be smiling and looking skyward.
The black-clothed man motioned with his hand and the column of men followed.
"Those men are going to die." Jane whispered from three feet away.
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"Why?" Carl asked her. "Why would they kill them?"
"Have you heard of World War Two?" Jane asked.
"Yes, it was a war between the German-Italian-Japanese alliance and the rest of the industrial nations, over land disputes."
"What was the Holocaust?" Jane continued.
"It was a fable started to support America's reason for entering the war." Carl replied promptly.
"No!" Jane raised her voice slightly above a whisper. "World War Two was caused by Nazi, Facist, and Japanese dictators who wanted more land to increase their statuses and economies. Adolf Hitler was the Nazi German dictator who was the main cause of World War Two. He massacred at least 5.9 million Jews in concentration camps for one reason alone: they were Jews. During the Crusades, European Catholic knights set Jewish suburbs on fire and persecuted them for one reason: they were Jews. These people who were just removed from the transport are Jews. Carl, we have to do something. There is a mass grave around this area. They are on a death march towards it. We must stop them."
Carl saw a tear glide down Jane's dirty face. He turned back to the transport craft. His mind raced. There had to be a way to save those Jews.
Suddenly an idea struck him. Grabbing Jane's hand, he said, "We have to use that transport."
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A cockpit was spread before them. A large screen displayed a view of the outside world. Carl had flown his uncle's hovercraft once. The controls in the pod were similar, yet more complex.
"Whew. It's on." Carl wiped his forehead. If the pod was turned off he could not have possibly accessed it. Most likely the robots didn't think anyone would be around to steal it.
A joystick, a touch-sensitive computer screen with virtual controls, and a main view-screen for the outside were the only instruments in the cockpit.
Both Jane and Carl fastened their seatbelts. In moments Carl lifted the pod upwards.
Blam.
The sound reverberated through the ship.
Jane screamed.
"Sorry. I accidentally pulled the trigger. It must have guns."
Jane was relieved. "You scared me."
"Sorry."
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The column of prisoners trudged through the quagmire below the rustling beech- trees. The Titan androids were at either end of the column.
Their lead headed the group. His cold blue eyes scanned the well worn trail up ahead. His job would be simple: command the robots to dispose of the prisoners, dump the bodies into the pit, and follow him back. The Titan androids were perfectly capable of performing the task by them-selves. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the power it gave him to command them.
The day was perfect for the job at hand. A yellow sun crested the billowy clouds in the distance. A calm breeze ruffled his dark hair.
The next instant an explosion propelled him to the ground. Another followed.
It was the enemy. The URS must have attacked. He had to find cover.
Diving into a dense patch of foliage, he awaited the invasion. He couldn't risk a call for help to his base now. The enemy could intercept it and find his exact location to the square millimeter.
No more shots were fired. A low whirring sound hummed through the trees.
He left his cover. His jaw dropped. A Jewish prisoner was entering his transport, not thirty feet away.
He drew his laser pistol. It was too late, the door had closed shut, and the pod took off with a powerful roar of its engines and disappeared behind the canopy of the forest.
The smell of burning plastic and metal reached his nose.
His guards were now two small piles of metal.
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Carl never could have imagined a few days ago that he would be piloting a UNAS troop pod. The powerful laser cannons had worked perfectly with very precise accuracy.
Jane had left the cockpit and entered the troop compartment to help the prisoners strap into chairs on either side of the compartment.
When Jane had reseated in the copilot position, she turned to Carl with a worried expression. "Where are we going to take these prisoners?"
The question had never occurred to him.
"Is there an evacuated city nearby?" Carl asked.
"Portland Oregon is only a hundred miles away. I think that its population was relocated to Chicago where a huge force of armies from the UNAS is located."
"It will take a little less than an hour, then, since our speed is 240 mph." Carl replied.
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It was strange, Carl thought, to be in a city, untouched by war, and entirely vacant.
The occupants of the troop pod were seated around a few tables in an empty café in the Portland's main street.
The sealed food containers, used by the café, were proficient at maintaining the edibility of the contents.
Carl opened his plastic package of a chicken sandwich. Jane and a Jewish man were seated nearby.
"Sir, I cannot thank you enough for rescuing us." The Jewish man began the conversation. Wrinkles and signs of age covered his face. Carl guessed that he was in his sixties.
"You are welcome."
"Did you know that I am only 39?" the man asked Carl.
"I thought you were at least 60." Carl was amazed.
"The concentration camp does that to you—it ages you before your time."
"My name is Carl Jones. What's your's."
"I-I don't know." The man sighed with lethargy.
"You can't even remember your name?"
"3602 is my number; my name—Ce …Ce—Cecil. Yes, that is what it is."
Jane nodded her head in thought. "Cecil, you must have been in the factory a long time."
"That's right. I was sent there, 12 years ago, before the war began."
"Do you know why they sent you to the factory?" Carl asked as he leaned forward—the sandwich forgotten.
"A law was passed. All nonconformists, Christians, and Jews were ordered to either convert to the tenets of the state, or be rehabilitated in the respective centers. I could not recant or convert to a totalitarian state that proclaimed moral relativity." The old-looking man shook his head. "When a youth wants to break my windows, the state will proclaim that he was abiding by his moral principles and that I should respect them. If a Jew were to get upset with anyone, he would be fined. I do not see why they differentiate between Jews and non-Jews. I know now that they only hate us."
Carl quietly watched the man. Why would the state treat a minority so cruelly? He thought.
Jane stood and quietly left the table.
By now the men were done eating and a couple of them approached Carl.
"We were planning to leave and explore the neighborhood a little." A tall man spoke, "We were going to find a clothing store. Our prison uniforms are old. We'll be back here in perhaps an hour. Did you want to come?"
"No thank you." Carl replied, distantly.
When is this war going to end? Carl thought moodily. When is there going to be peace?
Carl had to admit that he was beginning to like Jane. He hardly knew her, though.
She was courageous. Her face seemed to him to radiate a peace he had never felt. He did not know how to describe it.
Love, during a time of war, could not be realized, Carl decided.
The sun was dipping lower in the sky and an orange glow penetrated the wide windows of the café, sending beams of golden brilliance, slashing over the tile floor.
Carl sighed. It had been a long time since he had felt any emotion. War deadens the soul to the twisting terrors and horrors that accompany it.
He could not remember the last time he had smiled.
He had not smiled ever since the death of his wife—that much he could remember.
The war had been waged, so far, between robots of either side. It was claimed to be a bloodless war. It was claimed to be a short war.
It was claimed that only robots would be destroyed.
Somehow, the government didn't consider what an enemy invasion would do to its citizens.
The weight of a thousand thoughts shot into his mind, directly following his remonstrance.
He could see a woman smiling at him as he placed the wedding ring onto her soft finger.
A house with a green lawn—plush and verdant—sat on a hill. The first wheel-less-car, Carl bought, hovered away. It was a bright, red car.
Carl could remember his wife waving to him as he left in his new wheel-less, hover car. Carl could see his wife wave…
A house, empty and torn to shreds, with a brown, debris-strewn lawn, sat on a hill. The first wheel-less car, Carl bought, landed on the cracked pavement—the cracked pavement that had been his driveway. His wife was gone…
Carl wiped a bead of water from his eye. That seemed like a long time ago.
Other events had happened. Carl shifted his attention back to the room in the café.
A thought hit him with sudden force, interrupting his ruminations, with a sharp pang. Jane had not returned.
Carl began searching the back of the café. Coffee machines, bags of coffee, and boxes of doughnuts littered the storage room he entered.
Carl knocked on the woman's restroom door. No answer. He opened it. No one was inside.
After searching the entire shop, including the men's restroom, panic overtook him. Was the city really empty?
The sun was sinking too fast.
The sky scrapers were bars of gold in the orange sun. A faint breeze ruffled an old newspaper on the ground.
Empty and vacant, the street resembled Carl's heart.
Jane was gone.
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Chapter III—Approach
His heart was a drum in his chest, emphasizing each of his footsteps.
Carl was running.
The sun was now a mere dying sliver of orange. Red clouds drifted in the stratosphere like a convoy of ships.
He swore to himself. He had forgotten to bring a flashlight. Night would soon be upon him.
Carl paused. His breath came in choppy puffs.
He had rounded the corner of a brick building and was now staring keenly into the dark, crimson gloom of an extensive, tree-covered park.
He was attention was not focused on the surreal crimson shadows of trees, nor was it focused on the ripples in a pond.
Carl flattened his back against the brick wall.
There was no way he could face what occupied the shadows of the park.
Nevertheless, he had to…
Carl peered around the corner, at the apparition.
A massive, elongated structure of dark grey metal was hovering a few feet above the grass. White-blue lights illuminated its underside. Resembling a turtle shell, the vehicle was streamline and powerful. Carl could decipher the latter conclusion from the deep rumbling sound that propagated from it.
Just then, a door or hatch, in its side, opened and an orange light pored from the aperture.
A hydraulic whirring sound accompanied a movement. When Carl squinted, he could barely see an appendage extend out from an opening in the side of the ship.
With a voluminous, metallic snap, two rows of hooks lowered from the appendage in two, long columns, down its length. On each hook was attached a round, intricate, spheroid object.
Suddenly, the hooks released their hold and the spheroids dropped to the ground.
What came next caught Carl off guard.
Simultaneously, the spheroids unfolded into erect, robots!
With one motion, they turned so that all were facing Carl.
Carl had heard rumors of the intricate technologies of the URS. He knew that their robots could fold into tight spheres. Now, he saw them.
Carl ducked quickly behind the corner. They might have seen him.
Carl decided to head back. The sun had set and darkness pervaded over the land. There was no way he could find Jane now.
When he was halfway to the café, a minute reflection, of the silver moonlight, flashed in his eye, for a second.
Instinctively, he dodged into an alley.
The sound of footsteps approaching reached his attentive ears.
The next moment Carl watched three figures pass by the alley entrance, disappearing from view behind the wall.
One of those figures had long hair—Jane!
Carl quickly poked his head out for confirmation. Two robots were leading a woman down the sidewalk—towards the park.
He was about to run after them in a mad rush to save Jane, when he thought otherwise. He had no weapon.
Turning, he surveyed the alley. Moonlight aided his search as Carl began rummaging frantically through garbage bins for anything that could be used as a weapon.
He dropped a beer bottle as the thought came to him: Jane could be in that abominable ship now.
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Carl dashed to the corned and gazed into the darkness. The park was empty and void. The ship was gone.
Back at the café, Carl paced back and forth. His footsteps clicked on the tile floor—the only sound in the room: the only sound in his world.
The life of his soul had ended. Carl could feel a breath of fear and despair in his mind, like a cold breeze, pricking the skin on his neck.
A door opened. Carl ignored it.
"Carl." A man's voice came through the whirlpool of thoughts in Carl's mind. It was a beacon of hope in a dark, stormy sea.
"Carl."
"Yes?" Carl turned to the voice. It was Cecil.
"Where's the lady?"
Carl hung his head. He stammered. "She is gone. Robots landed and…"
"They took her." Cecil finished, slowly. "Carl, we must follow them. Our troop pod has assault rifles."
"They put her in a ship and took off." Carl shook his head in sorrow.
"Then, we'll follow them. Come." Cecil patted Carl's shoulder.
The men reentered the pod and Cecil outlined the change of plans.
"Men, the woman, in our company, has been captured. She is inside a robot battle craft. We need to rescue her."
With that said, Cecil grabbed the controls and they were off.
The dark city could be seen in the forward view-screen as a dark mass of surreal, narrow vertical cliffs.
Ahead, an orange glow, moving rapidly, identified the battle-craft.
Carl was handed an assault rifle.
"This will take out a robot if you hit it in the head." A man, with a centimeter-long beard and short hair, seated across from Carl, commented. "Flip that switch when you are ready to fire. There is no need to reload. This is a laser rifle."
"How do you know all this?" Carl asked.
"We were once officers in the marines before they made it illegal to be Jewish."
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The landscape below was pitch-black. A large, rectangular view-screen, built into the floor of the pod, displayed the ground below.
Carl almost felt that their pod was in outer space: a mere atom in a vast, dark void.
Since the countryside below had been evacuated, no light interrupted the infinite darkness below—for miles.
Carl suddenly began to have doubts about their mission. What could a small group of men possibly do to armored robots?
The darkness-an undecipherable void-- seemed to reflect his fear.
A new thought came to him. Could this be a trap? After all, the robots could have detected them by now.
His eyes shifted back to the floor view-screen. Light appeared. A small patch of lights, like shimmering stars, interrupted the black sea.
The lights were increasing in size. Presently, a structure began to materialize and grow larger.
Triangular, grey towers, lit with orange light, mounted the roof of a large, squat edifice, like medieval knights on horseback.
Soon they were no longer moving. The dark ground was approaching. The next moment, the view-screen turned off.
"We're here." A man nearby grunted.
________________________
Cecil, grim and resolute entered the soldier compartment.
"Men, we are on enemy territory in an enemy ship. We are here to rescue a fellow, former prisoner. Whatever happens, please remember, as Christians, we will set a priority in saving someone else above saving ourselves. We will not let Jane die."
All the former soldiers nodded their head in agreement.
Carl had never thought much of Christians all his life. They were goody-two- shoes, pious, and proud.
The speech Cecil gave was contrary to Carl's view. He had never before wanted to risk his life for someone else and he never had.
He shrugged the thought off.
Grasping his weapon firmly, Carl followed the men out through the doorway and into the night.
____________________
Like a yawning lion, a moaning door opened, in the side of the dark edifice, before a column of gleaming robots.
Carl saw a brief image: a dark object was struggling, trying to free its hands from the firm grip of its guards. The door swallowed them the next instant.
He was about to rush into the column of robots and fire away, when Cecil spoke.
"We're going to trail the robots. Men, never loose sight of the Jane. Let's move."
The small group of men followed several yards behind the robots.
With a powerful metallic grating noise, the door closed behind them automatically.
They were inside a stone hallway with a high, distant ceiling. Pillars lined the walls in intermediate intervals.
At the end of the hall, a large door opened to admit the robotic escort.
Quickly, the men ducked behind the pillars. The robots had turned around to face the hall they had just passed through.
A robotic voice broke the silence. "Take us to floor one."
The doors closed and a rumbling hum echoed through the stone gallery.
They had entered an elevator.
Carl rushed for the door.
"Wait, Carl." Cecil spoke sternly.
"What? Why wait?" Carl turned. "We need to stop them."
"Not yet. First we have to plan." Cecil approached Carl. "If we go to the same floor, how do we know we won't be captured, killed, or injured? We need a plan."
"Sir," One of the men asked.
"Yes?" Cecil replied.
"What if we waited a bit and half of our group followed the robots. Half of our group could stay in this hall to provide a backup."
"No all of us should go. Your plan is good. However, let half of our group followed a certain distance behind the other group. Come."
With that, they entered the elevator and Cecil said, "Take us to floor one."
________________
Doors opened like a curtain to reveal a room. A thunderbolt of emotion struck Carl's heart.
In a white room, with curved, circular walls, was a single figure seated in a dentist's chair.
A door, on the far side, was closed. The figure was motionless. The top of head rest of the chair rose a few inches above the figure's head.
A metal band encircled the figure's forehead and locked into the head rest.
Jane's eyes were closed and her feminine form was immobile.
Carl approached her. Her eyelids fluttered, almost imperceptibly, like the feint stir of a leaf on a calm day.
"Wake up, Jane. We've come to rescue you." Carl spoke above a whisper.
He feared that her life had departed.
He pressed her hand gently.
"Wake up."
She was motionless.
"She's in a coma, Carl." Cecil's whisper came from a foot away. "They put prisoners in psychosomatic dissociation so that their minds could be tapped and their memories explored."
"Why do they explore the memory?" Carl turned.
"They used the memory of the prisoner to sift through the faces, names, and words of people the prisoner knows, to locate other potential Christians or Jews."
Carl was dumbfounded. Why would anyone hate Christians or Jews so much?
"We have to stop it." Carl declared.
"In order to bring her out of the coma, we need to access a computer."
"There's one right there." Carl pointed, suddenly, at a monitor, on a stand by a wall, to the left.
Just as Carl was about to step forward, the door in the far wall opened.
________________________
Gleaming in the white light that emitted from circular light-cells in the ceiling, an elongated body entered the room. It walked with a strong stride and its inhuman eye-sensors scanned the occupants of the room with a short, brief sweep.
Carl could just imagine what took place in the robot's brain in that moment.
The next split second, a gun awoke with a loud percussion. A beam, of intense radiant energy, shot out of one of the men's assault rifles.
The robot staggered for a second before it found equilibrium. The cold, eyes focused on the assailant.
Its armor was blackened.
Something mechanical unlocked, in the robots arm, with a click and a whirr.
Carl gasped in astonishment as the attacker fell to the ground. The gun was cut in half. The robot lowered its outstretched arm and with a fluid motion, a small protruding gun, built into its arm, folded back into a corresponding slot.
The whole event took less than two seconds. Carl was dumbfounded. How could the machine, kill so fast and withstand bullets?
"Put your guns down. You are under arrest." The monotonous robotic voice commanded.
_____________________
A harsh light revealed every crevice and knick in the stone floor of their cell.
It was like an unmerciful sun, beating down on a weary, desert wonderer.
Carl and Cecil sat with their backs to the stone wall.
"Carl, have you ever heard of Jesus Christ?" Cecil suddenly asked after a few minutes of silence, followed the closing of the cell door.
"No." Carl had heard the word God and Christ as swear words. He had never heard of the actual man.
"Carl, Jesus created us. I have been burdened to tell you. So far I have had no chance. We will die tomorrow. So, tonight is the best time—"
"Wait! We're going to die?!" Car jolted. A pang of fear shot into his mind like an intense laser beam.
"Didn't you know, once a member or soldier of the UNAS has been attacked, all friends of that person are to be executed, since they could present a threat to the UNAS." Cecil explained. "If somehow you escape death tomorrow, you will die eventually. Carl, we have all sinned against the perfect, Holy God. Since God is Holy and nothing morally corrupt is in His nature, He requires all men to go to a place of torment for eternity. He does not want anyone to go to the Lake of fire or Hell. So, God sent His Son, Jesus Christ, in human flesh, to die on a Roman Cross for our sins, once, and for all men who have lived before Him and after Him.
The UNAS hates Christians because it believes that there is no such thing as sin and that a Holy, perfect God doesn't exist. They will kill Christians for no other reason than their hate for God. Satan was an angle God created. Satan and a multitude of other angels rebelled against God; consequently, they were removed from God's presence. Since then, Satan has tried to destroy every Christian and corrupt every piece of Christian writing—even the Bible its self. Carl, I don't want to sound like a pastor, but, will you accept Jesus gift of eternal life, by His death on a cross, and repent of your sins?"
Carl stared at the cracked concrete floor. Carl could not believe that anyone would love him to such and extent that he would die for Carl.
"I don't know." Carl whispered.
"Please, seriously consider it."
Carl did. His life seemed to not have much meaning until he had found Jane. Carl could feel a deep longing to be loved unconditionally. He had not remembered much about his father. His parents had divorced long ago. Vaguely, he felt that God was uncaring and unconcerned about each person's life. Then again, if God had given His Son to die for everyone's sins, why would God be uncaring?
The lights turned off and Carl stayed awake most of the night, thinking.
_____________________
In the pink light of the early morning a column of men and one woman were led out of the side of a black edifice, onto a high, out-jutting balcony.
Thirty feet below, a large cluster of robot soldiers formed massive, wide columns. Their silver skin reflected the rising sun, like a giant mirror, forming an awesome spectacle.
Large troop ships shaped like turtle shells, interrupting uniformity of the masses of robots, were like stepping stones in a silver-colored lake.
Carl peered over his shoulder and the balcony, for a moment, at the vast array. He was near Jane.
Robot guards stood nearby, keeping an eye on the prisoners.
"Jane," Carl leaned over towards her and whispered, "I've become a Christian last night."
Her mouth opened in astonishment. "Carl, that's wonderful." She turned her gaze sky-ward and breathed, "Thank God."
Turning to Carl Jane spoke, "Welcome to the family of God."
Carl's attention was diverted by the sound of hydraulics hissing as a door opened in the wall.
The firing squad emerged, clothed in the color of death—black. Their armor glistened with a cold, slimy reflection of the Sun. They were men.
Carl was surprised. He had thought that the robots would perform the execution. Evidently, the men enjoyed the thought of killing Christians.
Carl closed his eyes as the assemblage of dark, clothed soldiers lined up shoulder to shoulder, facing the prisoners.
"Ready…" The words struck Carl with a bolt of terror. At the command a unified, simultaneous locking sound shot through the air as guns were withdrawn from holsters. Carl trembled. He was going to die.
"Aim…" A dozen clicks came.
This is it. Carl thought.
"Fi—" The command was interrupted by a, loud machinegun. The shots rang fiercely. A loud jet-engine roared away and then it seemed a rain of explosions followed suit in the distance.
Carl opened his eyes. Is this what death is like?
He could see twelve fallen, black-clothed figures. Scorched pits in the wall nearby smoldered, releasing wisps of smoke.
Below, on the ground pulses of light and smoke ripped into the mass of robots.
Blue, elongated, hovering gun-ships were firing salvos into the robot army. The robots scurried like ants into their transport ships. Hatches in the side of the turtle-shaped craft opened and powerful energy guns emerged to counterattack.
Several of the blue gun-ships were shot out of the sky in the fury of salvos that came from the turtle-craft. A rain of bombs, dropped from the blue ships, gutted out several turtle-craft in a flash of explosions.
It was a war.
"Carl, were free." Cecil's voice shouted out of the cacophony of sound.
The robot guards had left to attend to the war. The prisoners reentered the base.
Once they had emerged on the first floor, they made a dash for their pod.
In the midst of the fighting, the small transport ship had not been hit.
Bodies of robots scattered over the ground, craters, and wreckage covered the once- green-grass.
When they had entered, Carl turned to Cecil. "Do you think it could have been damaged?"
"Let's see." Cecil started it up and in a moment they were flying away.
They left the battle in the distance. Flashes of light and dull thuds soon gave way to silence as they traveled.
"Carl," Jane approached the men in the cockpit, "and Cecil, thank you for rescuing me."
Carl turned to her and smiled. After all he had gone through, he could not have expected it to end the way it did. "God was the one who rescued all of us."
"Then," Jane said with a chuckle, "thank you for wanting to rescue me."
"You're welcome."
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About the author:
Joel Gray lives in the Northwestern United States. Starting book-writing at age 15, he wrote over eight manuscripts since his 15th birthday. His hobbies include biking, movie-making with a digital video-camera, and drawing. Sign of Treason, his fifth novel, is his first one to be published. Not having to pay the publisher a penny, Joel was able to have Sign of Treason published by Publish America.