Autonoma- Gate 13 Read online

  “Stay with me,” I demanded, clutching tighter to his jacket.

  “Let go of me. You’re hurting me.”

  I skidded to a halt as a Havoc bot waited in the path ahead, its red lit eyes burning with ferocity.

  “Why does that one have red eyes?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t know,” I responded, pulling my little brother in closer, as more red eyed Havoc bots surrounded our position.

  “I don’t like this,” Michael remarked, burying his face into my side.

  “Neither do I.”

  The eyes of the bot flickered, switching to the decaying red logo I saw before.

  “Simulation terminated. Welcome to Autonoma Resort,” chanted the disembodied voice.

  Chapter 7

  The Hold

  Surrounded, I pulled my visor closer to my lips, hopeful the microphone was situated within it. “Henri, what the hell is going on?”

  Glaring at us, the Havoc bots, their red eyes flicking between the red decaying logo, remained in front of us, like something had control over them, and it was deciding what to do with us.

  A green arrow lit up on the floor ahead.

  “Please follow the green arrows, Guest,” Henri chirped.

  I grabbed Michael by the shoulder of his jacket and edged us both toward the arrow.

  “What are they doing?” my little brother asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  The familiar smell of old engine grease filled my nostrils, and this time I was grateful for it. “Henri, you’ve got to start telling me what’s really going on here!”

  “Apologies, Guest--” the old bot stuttered, the Havoc bot’s eyes snapping to his position, like a single unit of one mind.

  “Simulation terminated. Welcome to Autonoma Resort,” chimed in unison around me. The jungle subsided to the cubic walls, and we found ourselves standing in a corridor some ten-feet-tall, with no natural light or color.

  Guests filed out of side rooms, mumbling and complaining, led by their green-eyed chaperones, as I looked to our simulation room, noting the red-eyed Havoc bots dispersing to join the highway of bots flying across the ceiling.

  “Apologies, Guest, I must seek a charge point immediately,” Henri remarked.

  “No, wait. You owe me a bloody good explanation.”

  I felt Michael tighten his grip on my jacket.

  “Those things, those Havoc bots, what were they going to do? Were they going to detain me too? Is that how this place works? Something goes wrong, so you start detaining people?”

  “Battery levels dangerously low,” a disembodied voice chanted from Henri’s core.

  The yellow tin can turned tail, scuttering across the floor at ankle height.

  “Yeah, fine,” I shouted after him, “go. You better be back with answers, you flying piece of crap.”

  Michael’s stared up at me.

  “What?” I responded, “He is.”

  A jingle, more fitting to a supermarket, blared into my earpiece. “Attention guests, due to maintenance issues, Autonoma Resort is closed,” the disembodied voice chimed. “For your safety, and of those around you, please follow the arrows visible on your visor to your designated safe waiting place. Further instructions will follow.”

  Maintenance issues? Yeah, and I was the first pope of Autonoma. This wasn’t maintenance issues. Something here was corrupt, and I’d be damned if Henri was going to hide it from me any longer.

  “Come on, we’ll be fine,” I told my little brother, bending down to his eye-level. “We’ve just got to follow the arrows. That’s easy, right?”

  The lights extinguished as Michael’s terrified scream rattled my earpiece.

  “It’s OK. Everything is going to be fine,” I declared in a hushed voice. “Just follow the arrows.”

  ‘UNIDENTIFIED USER DETECTED’, appeared on my visor.

  Around us, I heard the cries of children, calling for their mothers and fathers trying to guide them along the corridor, following the guidance of their green-eyed chaperones.

  “I’ve got you,” one responded.

  “It’s OK. Just follow the arrows,” another repeated.

  “They’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” an older voice spat, “they won’t get away with this.”

  With the yellow arrows, the green eyes of other people’s hoverbots, and the info bubbles of other patrons to guide us, I led Michael along the corridor.

  We followed the route to a single well-lit, small room, with twenty or so white plastic bench seats, and I guided Michael in first. More people follow us inside.

  “I demand at once, tell me what is going on here?” the angry older voice sneered, his bony finger pointed at the Havoc bot hovering at his side as he took his seat. ‘Mr. Scriven’, his info bubble read, no avatar picture though.

  I slid Michael’s dino backpack under the seat and sat down next to my little brother as he buried his cheek into my arm.

  Why were they rounding us up in here? Were we going home? Were we safe?

  The lights extinguished, and the screams of the children filled the room, as a series of loud thuds reverberated around the corridor outside.

  The jingle chimed into the room. “Attention guests, due to health and safety requirements, we must ask that you remain in this room during this time, and that--”

  The disembodied voice fell silent.

  It wasn’t just the children crying anymore as the hoarse voice took control of my earpiece again. “Autonoma will prevail.”

  A red arrow, decayed and rusted like the logo appeared at the open door, pointed out into the corridor. I saw Candice’s info bubble jump up, and as the lights lit up, I saw the girl running for the arrow.

  “No,” I cried out, as her Havoc bot flew after her, its eyes a fiery red.

  I jumped to my feet to pursue her, as the others in the room seemed possessed with the inability to move. Michael tugged at my arm, unwilling to let me go, pulling me back toward my seat.

  Candice’s info bubble cleared the doorway and jarred right as a series of loud thuds filled the corridor. The bubble extinguished.

  “Candice?” Liz screamed, jumping to her feet.

  “No,” I demanded, reaching out for her, skidding to a halt, as Henri appeared in the doorway, blocking it.

  “Please, Guest,” the bot chimed, his prim and proper tone undeterred, “it is imperative that you take your seat.”

  “No,” she screamed, bringing her hands up toward the yellow tin can.

  A Havoc bot launched through the doorway, clipping Henri’s top disc, striking Liz across the cheek. Henri recovered his balance as the girl collided with the floor.

  “What the hell is that?” the old man asked, his bony finger extended toward Henri.

  “I am a Human Emotional--” he replied, as a swarm of red-eyed Havoc bots charged through the doorway, casting the old hoverbot into darkness; interrupting his introduction.

  Henri clattered to the floor beside the girl, her hands raised to protect her face, as the room was overwhelmed by the throng of white orbs.

  The green-eyed chaperones turned toward their guests, their eyes changing to the amber sneer I saw in the Food Hall.

  The lights extinguished.

  A series of blue flashes charged around the room, sparking, hissing and cracking with a loud snapping noise, as the orbs were consumed with disabling one another.

  Cracks, thuds and screams echoed about the small space as Havoc bots crashed to the floor, stunned or suppressed.

  I could see the faces of the people next to me. The fear in their eyes, the confusion etched into their open mouths, lit up with the discharge of their Havoc bots fighting back their corrupted brethren.

  The room fell silent. Darkness prevailed.

  “I don’t like this. I want to go home, now,” Michael pleaded.

  The lights came on, and I could see the old man clutching at his chest as Liz staggered to the nearest seat, her hand pressed against her bruised face.


  ‘Mr. Scriven - MEDICAL ASSISTANCE REQUIRED’, his info bubble updated.

  “He’s having a heart attack,” the woman at his side cried, “someone help him, please!”

  “Do you require medical assistance, Guest?” Henri chimed, his battered old yellow body twitching on the floor.

  “Yes. Help him,” the woman implored, tears streaming down her face.

  “Medical assistance is on the way,” the old hoverbot remarked, twitching, while those who could tried to calm those around them.

  “What’s wrong with Henri?” Michael whimpered, trying to hold back the tears.

  “He’s fine,” I replied, trying my best to convince my little brother, “I guess he got hit pretty hard by those Havoc bots.”

  “You have to help him.”

  Help him? What was I meant to do? Sure, I played with basic robotics with Dad at home, but this thing looked older than me, what could I do?

  “Please,” my little brother begged.

  With hesitation, I walked around to Henri and knelt by his side, the light within his core fading in and out, flickering and sparking. He was losing power, fast.

  Three Havoc bots, their eyes replaced by a flashing green cross of a medic unit, whizzed through the doorway into the room.

  “You have to help him,” Ms. Scriven pleaded, as the medic bots approached the old man.

  “Power supply critical,” the disembodied voice chanted from Henri’s core, drawing my attention back to him. “Shut down imminent.”

  I reached out to pick him up, crying out in pain and retracting my hands. The old tin can was hot, no wonder he smelled of old engine oil, he was burning it at an alarming rate to keep himself from combusting. Removing my jacket, I used it as a pair of oven gloves to pick him up.

  Turning him around, I could see the gouge in his side, and behind it, the power unit. The panel, ripped from most of its rivets, came off with a sharp tug.

  “Shut down initiated.”

  The old hoverbot powered down in my arms, and I could do nothing more than watch the last bulb on his circuit board fade away. I lowered Henri to the floor, the unbearable heat burning through my jacket.

  Behind me, I heard the medic bots attempting to regulate Mr. Scriven’s heart with what looked like a defibrillator, the rest of the room watching the bots with desperation in their eyes and hesitation etched into their faces. I didn’t think any of us understood what the hell was going on.

  Michael stared back at me, tears welling.

  “I don’t know what to--” I stopped, the shattered body of a corrupted Havoc bot against my little brother’s dino pack drawing my attention.

  I jumped to my feet and collected up any valuable pieces into the backpack, discarding the white plastic and returning to Henri. Picking up the old hoverbot with my jacket, I pulled out the power pack, taking care not to burn myself on his metal casing.

  “So crude,” I remarked, pulling out the power cells taped together to form his battery.

  Picking through the new pieces from the Havoc bot, the sandwich bags and fortune cookies, I found the Havoc’s battery. A slim little unit, not much larger than my hand, with two wires, red and black. Collecting up a shattered circuit board from the pile to use as a knife, I strip back the wires.

  Matching up the wires to Henri’s power board, I hoped whenever he was built, red meant positive and black meant negative. I twisted the ends of the black wire together and pinched them as best I could, using the shattered circuit board and the floor as a rudimentary form of pliers.

  As I connected the two red cables together, I heard Henri’s fan on his power unit fire up.

  With haste, I crimped the red wires and pushed the power board and battery pack into the old hoverbot’s casing.

  “Start-up initiated,” an new voice, a man’s voice, a real man’s voice, declared.

  I watched a series of lights cycle through their patterns on Henri’s casing - I didn’t even know the old hoverbot had lights - as his arm twitched through a calibration procedure.

  The arm retracted inside the old tin can and the old hoverbot climbed an inch or two into the air.

  Henri turned, his compass pointing north, hesitated, and turned 180 degrees toward south. He paused, as though he was calculating his next move, and turned east.

  I watched, expecting the bot to turn west. Instead, he turned his painted-on eyes toward me.

  “Find Alex,” the man’s voice instructed, though his tone was more of desperation. He sounded weak, but he also sounded familiar. Really familiar. “Save my family--” the voice died away.

  “What?” I asked, unsure of what I heard, as Henri stared at me. “What did you just say?”

  A cheer filled the room and Mr. Scriven coughed.

  I turned to see Ms. Scriven embrace the old man fondly as he struggled to find his voice again.

  “Henri, wait,” Michael called out, as my younger brother approached in full sprint.

  I snapped back to old hoverbot, hovering toward the door, feeling Michael brush against my arm.

  “No,” I cried out, reaching for him, as he slipped my grasp.

  “Autonoma will prevail,” the decaying voice chanted into my earpiece.

  I grabbed the dino pack and launched after my little brother, his toes perched on the metal sill as a red beacon illuminated above the doorway.

  With all the strength I could muster in my often-sedentary legs, I threw myself through the narrowing gap as the door dropped into position.

  On my back, I felt the cold metal strip of the doorway on my waist, and keen to not lose my legs, I tucked myself into a ball, pulling my knees to my chest.

  The door sealed shut.

  “Michael,” I shouted, rolling to my side, scanning the corridor, my eyes drawn to the unconscious girl on the floor on the far side, Henri coming to a stop and turning to face his young pursuer.

  My little brother skidded to a halt, the sound of the soles of his shoes scraping along the floor filling the air.

  “Michael,” I yelled, climbing to my feet, “get away from him.”

  My little brother turned tail, leaping into a charge back toward me as Henri tilted forward, and with an invigorated pace, gave chase.

  “Alex,” Michael called out, reaching his hands out to me.

  The old hoverbot stopped.

  “Alex,” the familiar man’s voice called out. “Michael. Alex. Alex. Michael,” streamed from the old hoverbot, like sections of old audio tape strung together.

  My little brother crashed into me, grabbing my waist, as screams from the holding room spilled into the corridor.

  I looked to the door as one by one, the info bubbles of the people we shared the ride in were extinguished.

  Michael clamped his hands over his ears and buried his face into my stomach.

  “Family,” the man’s voice declared from the old hoverbot glaring at me, a red bulb pulsing on his casing, each of his words pre-recorded and not computer generated like they were before I rebooted him. “Alex.”

  A stream of Havoc bots, like a polluted torrent of toxic smoke, cascaded down the wall behind him; their fiery red eyes fixed on our position.

  “I don’t know what you are,” I declared, trying to be brave for my younger brother, hoping on a chance the old hoverbot knew what it was saying, “I don’t know why we ended up with you, and I don’t know if you have any concept of what family means, but if you understand what I am saying to you right now, I, we are not your enemy, we are a family, and we need you to get us the hell out of here, now!”

  The yellow tin can hesitated like it always did when it had to think or process commands, the unending stream of Havoc bots swelling the corridor. There must have been thousands of them bearing down on us. This old hoverbot was the only chance we’d got.

  “Please follow the arrows, Guest,” Henri chimed, his prim and proper persona restored, a series of green arrows lighting up on my visor, as the red bulb faded on Henri’s casing.

  I d
idn’t care where these arrows were taking us, all I knew was they were taking us in the opposite direction from the approaching swarm; that was good enough for me.

  “Run,” I told Michael. “Run!”

  Chapter 8

  Exit Path

  Following the green arrows, I glanced behind, the swarm of Havoc bots following our every twist and turn. The tall, narrow corridors were disorientating, and I wasn’t convinced we weren’t running in circles. Another check behind, and it was obvious those bots were much faster than we were, even Henri with his upgraded power supply was struggling to keep up with us.

  Static appeared on my visor as I ran on the edge of the narrow bridge across the snowy valleys of the entrance lobby. I looked down at the drop a misplaced step to my right.

  “The shuttle bay,” Michael declared with excitement. “We’re going to the shuttle bay.”

  “Yes. Yes, we are,” I replied, excited. “Just keep running. We’ll be home real soon.”

  Henri came to an abrupt halt, blocking the path ahead.

  “What are you doing?” I screamed. “Get out of the way!”

  Michael ducked underneath and lurched forward.

  “No,” the pre-recorded man’s voice declared.

  “Wait,” I called out to Michael, my little brother skidding to a halt.

  I looked behind, my visor switching between the simulated snowy slopes, to the desolate, featureless grey corridor which led us here.

  The Havoc bots parted like the waves of the ocean breaking against ragged cliffs. The white swarm launched upward, ascending toward the ceiling. A few seconds later, and the swarm had dispersed.

  I paused, watching, waiting to see what would happen next, Michael reaching for my hand.

  “Come on,” he pleaded, “the shuttle.”

  I turned to face him and Henri blocking the way.

  “No,” the old hoverbot reaffirmed, with the same pre-recorded voice.

  I didn’t know what it was about that voice. Maybe it belonged to someone famous or someone I knew. I didn’t understand what I found so commanding and captivating about it; the urge to obey it, however, was overpowering.

  The next green arrow pulsated as they did when Autonoma became impatient.