Prize of the Machine: Chapter 4
Rudy's stomach groaned and gurpled. He ground his teeth into each other and ignored it; this was to be expected on meal pills. It would take his body a while to get used to the emptiness in his stomach.
He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd entered the bunker. The two MXs in the lab above were still on post. He wagered a little over thirty hours, but wasn't interested enough to check the time.
He was curved over his work station, soldering the parts to a small wireless microphone he was building to help him better understand what was happening over his head. It was clever, and kind of cute, that Dorian took all the wireless receiving devices out of the lab. It had taken Rudy the better part of an hour to build one that he could use to pick up signals. He wasn't sure what was being said, but every hour, the MXs in the lab sent out a code. It was always the same and it had to be the "Nothing is happening here," cryptogram.
The cot and blankets on the far wall remained undisturbed. Rudy's eyes were ringed and sunken. The two MXs watching over the lab were not the dead-eyed zombies he was used to seeing. They were like the MX he had accidentally created. They were talking, chatting it seemed, though he couldn't hear a word. Occasionally, one would bare his teeth in imitation of a smile. It should have been terrifying but Rudy found it fascinating and endearing to watch the bots navigate new emotions.
He was so smitten, he was feeling a little bad for what he was going to have to do to at least one of them. But that would have to wait until he knew more about their patterns and he could replicate the signal they were transmitting.
Dorian had provided him with a fairly nice workspace, but he was missing half his tools and it was infuriating to see them on the monitors. So close and yet so far away. He was particularly interested in getting a light screen so he could attempt to infiltrate the closed network the androids had secured. Judging by his distinct lack of equipment, this was an activity Dorian didn't approve of.
The yellow overhead light in the small, metal bathroom buzzed when Rudy snapped it on. He was stubbled and had dark circles under his eyes. He tested the water to see if it was still out and was happy when the faucet hiccupped back to life. Dorian hadn't provided him with a razor—typical for a man who needn't ever shave. So he resolved to get one soon; he couldn't save the world looking like some vagrant from over the wall.
He was feeling rather confident in his safe-house. It took very little time to transform the bunker from a quickly inventoried storage facility into a rather well-functioning work space. His eyes flicked to the TV monitors continuously, to the point where he was cursing himself for obsessing.
Yawning and stretching his back, Rudy examined the small listening device he had been working on all morning. His only challenge now was to get it up above so it could start picking up signals. "Beautiful," he announced to himself, turning the little wire in his hands, "now to get you in place."
The metal rungs along the wall leading to the heavy hatch to the main floor felt rusted under his hands. He peered into the monitors as he hovered with his hand on the latch. The MXs were clear across the room but the hatch could be loud. He tugged at his belt, making sure the boot was readily at hand, in case he was discovered. The slender tool was the only chance he had to escape capture of he was discovered, one touch to the side of the head and the MXs would power down completely. "Okay," he said to himself, "let's do this."
The hatch made a click noise as he pulled on the handle. It sounded deafening to his ear but from above it was barely noticeable. He shoved up on the hatch and opened it enough to slip the thin listening device out onto the floor before quickly resealing the opening. The whole ordeal had seemed clumsy and loud. Heart beating out of his chest, he twisted to look at the monitors and fell down to the ground against the concrete with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
He heard metallic steps overhead as he winced and sucked at the air, his fingers coiling around the boot defensively. After a moment, the steps trailed away and Rudy lay back on the floor exhausted.
When he finally climbed back up onto his feet, he groaned and stretched his spine. The monitors showed the MXs back by the wall, leaning and talking. He turned on the computer and patched into the hastily built receiver. Tapping up the volume, the MXs voices came over the tinny speakers. They were far away and a little hard to hear through the terrible sound system on the laptop, but they were working nonetheless.
"Typical humans, don't you think?"
"Human-on-human violence has always been an issue. It is no surprise."
Their voices were indistinguishable from each other.
"Yes, but in times of tragedy, there is often a spirit of camaraderie, of shared hardship. We have witnessed this."
"What do you think about maybe a bow tie for me?" one of them was trying to change the subject.
"I don't want to discuss fashion with you again," the other MX scoffed. "I don't care what you wear." It was amazing to hear the change of tone in their voices. Rudy knew it was wrong, but he felt rather proud of them. The results for mankind were staggering and terrible, but for the MXs, his software tweak was rather profound.
As the MXs bickered on, Rudy slipped his hand behind him and picked at the knot to his apron. He hung it on the wall. Beat, satisfied with his progress, and bruised from his fall, he was ready for the cot.