The noxious fog of fusion war curled across the devastated city of New Malibu, pooling in blast craters and clinging to the twisted skeletons of office blocks and skyscrapers. One hundred and eighty-four feet above the scorched concrete, Miley looked out through her foot-thick forceproof visor at the city's corpse slumped beneath the interminable gray of the pollution-soaked sky. Below the survivors of last night's devastating attack were crawling like ants across the urban wasteland, searching for family or raiding the pockets of the countless dead for cash and valuables.
-Level two repairs are complete. Commencing system diagnostics. The voice, though tinny, was unmistakable as Lilly's. Today she sounded sad.
The visor acted as a display, flicking rapidly through a blur of statistics for the next few seconds. -Diagnostics complete. System functionality is at eighty-four percent. Are you hungry, Miley?
"I'm fine, thanks," said Miley. "Let's go." There was a long low hum as the hydraulic engines started up, and children climbing on Lilly's great feet scampered out of her path.
Miley lifted her right leg and the thirty thousand tons of metal, rubber and explosive destruction that were her best friend moved with her, stepping over the few surviving structures in a sea of rubble as Lilly approached the Pacific shore. The brilliant blue ocean, idyllic backdrop of their teenage years, was now reduced to a toxic dump, a murky swamp equally empty of life and beauty. So many memories...
A low warning beep sounded just behind Miley's right ear, and she tensed inwardly.
-I'm picking up a signal on the horizon. It could be the next wave. I'll establish a link with base.
Instantly a portion of the visor showed a live link to the underground government facility where Lilly had been 'created' – that wasn't the right word, but for all her lyrical prowess Miley was unable to find the one that was. A moment later the expansively grave countenance of Professor James Carson filled the screen.
Three months ago Carson had been a handsome research scientist in his late twenties pioneering the field of robotronics. The invasion, and his sudden promotion, had added ten years and piled the incalculable weight of world-saving responsibility upon his shoulders. "Stewart," he said simply with a curt nod.
"Better batten down the hatches, Jim," said Miley. "Looks like more Varians on the way. Permission to engage."
Carson frowned, and his eyes were lost in shadow. "More already? The attacks are growing ever more frequent." He glanced down at a display summarising the diagnostic results and shook his head. "Lilly's systems aren't fully restored yet."
"We'll be fine," said Miley, keeping her voice calm and even, though inside she was in turmoil. "All her vitals are functioning correctly."
"No," said Carson with an air of finality. "Without full recovery, there's a chance that Lilly could act irrationally or misinterpret your commands. Come back to base, we can try to speed up her regeneration."
"And in the meantime you'll send out more men to be slaughtered? We can handle this."
Carson sighed, his frown deepening. He softened his tone. "I'm sorry, Miley. We have to distract them until Lilly can safely re-enter the fray. In the meantime, get some sleep. You look like shit."
"Straight back at you, Carson." The display winked out. The prospect of sleep loomed over her like a thundercloud as Miley thought of her loved ones far below. Daddy, Jackson, Rico... While she rested, they were defenceless. Would they survive until she awoke?
"We won't make it back in time, will we?" She already knew the answer. There was a brief hesitation before Lilly's reply, though no computation time was required.
-Probability of Varian onslaught 93%. Estimated arrival time two hours. Estimated repair time six hours. Lilly sounded apologetic.
Miley sighed. "Let's go home."