Prize of the Machine: Chapter 2
Rudy Lom hadn't meant to cause an MX uprising, really, he hadn't. He had simply grown tired of working with the impatient, cold androids so he played with the software in an attempt to give them some manners and make them a little more conversational. He couldn't have imagined that his tinkering would absolutely work, creating a new kind of MX with the ability to react to human behavior independent of the programed algorithms that usually dictated their judgments. It was also hard to predict that humanity would be so abhorrent to the new breed of MX that he would spread his program out and start an unholy movement against mankind. In retrospect, he should have stuck to making butterflies.
The lab was housed in an old government building with hemispherical, arching, glass ceilings and a wide, flat, open space. As a testament to the paranoid, inadequate thinking of the past, there was a deep sublevel accessible through a hidden hatch on the floor. Rudy was hunkered in the chilly, unused space while the world above fell into utter chaos. With no power and only a small flashlight to find his way, it was difficult to get his bearings in the dreary chamber. For now, his face and body were bathed in pastel light from the ancient, creaking laptop that sat before him on the table.
He passed his fingers over the note he had found on his bed stand a few hours earlier, when his alarm inexplicably crowed him awake. It was hand written in pen, which was very strange. Even stranger, it was in flawless, 12 point, Times New Roman font. This could only be the handwriting of an android, he mused at the delicate, perfect characters. In Rudy's humble opinion, the note was the first of its kind, a unique construction. It read:
Rudy—
Hide in the bunker immediately. MX revolution inevitable. Stay safe, stay below.
Supplies in place. I will come for you.
"Dorian," Rudy had accurately decided. During their stint as roommates, he had taken the curious DRN on a full tour of the lab, deciding at the last minute to share the old panic room he had affectionately dubbed the bunker. To be honest, Dorian hadn't seemed too impressed with the ugly, dark space at the time and Rudy hadn't shared it with anyone else since.
A file, created in an honest-to-god single-purpose text editing software program was located on the desktop of the computer on the table, entitled, "READ ME." Rudy had a rather nice collection of old technology and it delighted him to no end to find this piece in such nice working condition. In fact, he was so excited that he poked at the file with his finger and waited for it to open before he remembered that he had to use a track pad to move the cursor. A real, live cursor! He bared his teeth in excitement in the dim lighting as the pixelated arrow traced across the screen.
Inside the file he found notes outlining the series of events that lead to the rather nasty situation taking place over his head. It was more than a little disheartening to know that his meddling had been the catalyst for the collapse of society.
From the perspective of an outside observer, it would appear that Rudy was taking the news of humanity's downfall in stride. He sat on the dusty old chair in the dungeoneous room and peered at the low resolution screen before him, his chin resting his palm and his fingers clasped over his mouth.
Rudy read the whole lengthy report on the situation, his eyes skittering back and forth. It took a few hours and he was nearly scared out of his skin when the power surged back on, illuminating his cheerless, hopefully temporary, new home. Dorian had been busy. There was a cot stacked with blankets and pillows, an old tattered rug on the floor, a row of clothing, many jugs of water and protein bars, and a large supply of meal supplement pills. Rudy ignored all of the essentials and stood in awe of the flickering, black and white wall of projection television sets that had been part of the original installation. Their murky screens had been hastily wiped clean and soft grey images vibrated behind the glass, showing the lab above from various angles. One television showed the hall leading to the lab. He could monitor the room over his head on this outdated equipment set up on a closed circuit stream.
He tapped on one of the glass screens with his fingernail and smiled. It was remarkable to see these old things working. He clasped his hands together and looked around, taking inventory of his equipment. He had a whole table of tools but no light screens or other traceable tech. The old laptop with a real plastic screen was his only computer and the wireless card had been removed.
The most valuable device, in the middle of the table, was the metal wand that was used to awaken and disable androids. A touch to the ear was all it took to incapacitate a bot. Rudy called it the bootstrap, or the boot, for short. He decided it would be very important to have the boot within an arm's reach at any given moment throughout this ordeal, just in case. He gripped at the work apron hanging on the hook by the wall and tied it on to his slender frame.
A flutter of activity on the wall of screens caught in his peripheral vision. Rudy watched on the grainy displays as a large group of MXs entered his lab and spread out, searching. He wished he had sound.
In the file he read on the laptop, Dorian had warned him that the MXs wanted to find him and capture him. Rudy was a valuable asset and could be one of the few useful humans kept in the city. Rudy studied the screens on the wall, looking from one to the next to see the various angles and perspectives. The MXs above were there for him. He wondered just how soundproof the bunker was, realizing he was holding his breath.
After a thorough search, two MXs were seemingly left to guard the lab. Rudy watched them stand around, clutching their weapons. One of them had a circle of metal in his hand and Rudy correctly assumed it was for him. He was going to make certain he wasn't captured. It was bad enough working on the MXs when he was getting paid. Working as a personal slave for the heartless bastards was out of the question.
Despite all of it, Rudy was optimistic that he could possibly help change the situation. Though, he wasn't sure how or where to begin. Turning his back to the wall of televisions, he placed his capable hands on his hips and surveyed his surroundings once more. There was plenty of room in the spacious cell to set up a decent lab. His success would hinge on his continued freedom but also access to at least one MX—or the head of at least one MX. His mind reeled as the television screens behind him made an archaic, almost hypnotic, static hum.
Rudy looked up at the thick ceiling over his head, a smile playing on his lips. He was, he assumed, the only human left in this city. If the computer file's description of the MXs plan was accurate, humans the world over were being extracted from the cities, pushed into suburban and rural areas homeless and lost. They needed saved. He imagined himself in a brilliant tux, a bowtie looking sharp under his angular chin. His hair swept about his face stylishly, as opposed to the mop he currently sported. Dr. Rudolph Lom, international man of mystery.
He snapped the boot up off the table and spun it like a baton, placing it deftly under his belt in the front of his pants.
There was a thick energy emitting from the obsolete devices all around him. Rudy could feel the electric thrum like a sixth sense. Yes, this was fantastically fun. What a brilliant day—apart from the whole MX uprising, of course.