Counterattack (13 page)

“I've got to stop him,” I whispered back.

“And kill all of us? He and Jordan are both wired to our death chip activators. You know the consequences. If their heartbeats stop, so do ours.”

“But—”

“What is that noise behind me?” Stronsky roared.

I froze. Number 12 froze.

“That's what I thought,” he said, instantly calm again. “No noise. You aren't dumb enough to risk my anger.”

This guy was psycho.

Stronsky moved toward 23 again. “Now, my stupid little robot,” he said, looking down on the robot that Ashley controlled. Stronsky was a very large man to be able to look down on our robots, which were nearly six feet tall. “It's time you paid the price for your question.”

None of the other robots moved. Neither did 23.

“Tempted to try anything to fight back?” Stronsky asked. “After all, you're five times stronger than I am. Your titanium shell is bullet-proof, and I'm only made of muscle and skin. Come on. Try something.”

Number 23 rolled forward.

“Death chip,” Stronsky said. “Remember? Death chip. Disobey again, and all I have to do is say the word.”

If it were Ashley behind Number 23, the death chip would not kill her. No, it would kill the kid she had replaced, a kid who now shivered under a blanket.

Robot 23 stopped.

“That's better,” Stronsky said, still slapping his stun gun against his open palm. “Get ready for your medicine.”

If she wanted, Ashley could rip him apart. But that would let the people on this end know that she and I had taken over two of their robots. She'd have to let him stun the robot, as if she
were
scared of the death chip.

“Good little robot,” Stronsky said. Very slowly he began to lower the stun gun. The look on his face showed he enjoyed the suspense. It showed he enjoyed his sense of control, making the kid controlling the robot wait and wait and wait for the incredible pain of the electric shock.

I wondered if I should step forward and distract Stronsky. Anything to keep him from hurting my friend Ashley.

Stronsky lowered the stun gun, then pulled it back. “Make you flinch?” he taunted 23.

He began to lower it again. Just before I could shout anything, a loud voice reached us from across the warehouse. “No! Enough! I said
train
them, not
damage
them!”

I definitely knew that voice.

I refocused my video lenses on the man stepping out of the doorway. There was no mistaking the round face, round gold-rimmed glasses, and the evil look on his face. It was Dr. Jordan. Who had tried to kill Ashley and me out in space.

He believed we were dead.

I was afraid to think what might happen once Dr. Jordan found out we were still alive.

And now among his robot soldiers.

CHAPTER 4

“What seems to be the difficulty here?” Dr. Jordan asked in an intimidating tone. He walked quickly across the warehouse floor and was soon eye to eye with Stronsky. “Let me repeat,” Dr. Jordan said fiercely. “What seems to be the difficulty here?”

Despite his gigantic size, Stronsky looked terrified.

I understood. I'd faced Dr. Jordan's wrath before.

“I am applying discipline techniques,” Stronsky said, his voice shaking. “You weren't here, and I know how important it is that all of these robots learn to obey instantly.”

“Well, I'm here now,” Dr. Jordan snapped. “So tell me who needed discipline and why.”

“Number 17 decided to show mercy to his targets during a computer simulation of tomorrow's attack. He shot the ceiling instead of our heat figures.”

Dr. Jordan turned his eyes on me. It felt like he was looking right through the robot body and seeing me controlling it in my wheelchair. “I see,” he said. “And Number 23?”

“Perhaps the opposite problem,” Stronsky said. “Number 23 was eager to find out who tomorrow's targets were.”

“Perhaps we can forgive Number 23,” Jordan said with a sinister smile. “I like a bloodthirsty robot. But I am troubled by Number 17. You applied shock treatment?”

“Yes,” Stronsky answered.

Dr. Jordan strode toward me. He tapped his chin as he stared at me thoughtfully. “Did you learn your lesson, Number 17?”

Even though I knew the robot's speakers would alter my real voice, I was afraid to speak.

“Answer me!”

“I learned my lesson,” I said.

Dr. Jordan let out a loud sigh. “Perhaps now is the time to let you know something.” He stepped backward so he could survey all the robot soldiers. “I know all of you have believed since childhood that you are orphans.”

All of us except for me. Because I'd been born on Mars, I was the only one among the kids who controlled these robots not to have been raised in the Institute—back where they were now held prisoners in jelly tubes. But because of my friendship with Ashley—who had been raised with the others before she was brought to Mars for the Hammerhead mission—I knew what Dr. Jordan said was true. Ashley had told me that both of her parents had died in a car crash. The only things she had left from them were two silver cross earrings. She'd given one of them to me as a symbol of our friendship.

“In one way, it does make sense that we would use orphans for these robot experiments,” Dr. Jordan continued. “Who cares about you? Who would come looking for you? The secret military arm responsible for the operations that gave you robot control would naturally pick experimental test subjects who have no family ties.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “So let me give you some good news. We have lied to you from the beginning. Your parents are not dead.”

A low, excited buzzing filled the warehouse. It took me a moment to realize it was the voices of the robots. With the exception of Ashley and me, the kids who controlled them were each stuck in their jelly tubes back at the Institute. There, even though they were inches apart, they were on life support and could not communicate by the use of their human voices and human ears. The only life they now led was through the robot bodies, and they could only talk among themselves here on this side. Now they were acting no differently than if they had gathered in a schoolyard.

“Silence!” Dr. Jordan roared. “Silence!”

The buzzing and talking instantly stopped.

“Let me now give you the bad news,” he said softly. His voice carried clearly. All the others, I guess, were as afraid of him as I was. “Yes, your parents are alive. For now.”

The silence seemed to become even more silent—if that were possible—as the kids controlling the robots listened intently through the robot audio controls.

“Yes, we can kill you through the death chip. All of you knew that going into this little military exercise. But now you need to know something more. We can—and will—also kill your parents if you disobey. And your brothers and sisters. Wherever they are in the world.”

Dr. Jordan rubbed his goatee as he stared at the robots gathered in front of him. “Think of yourselves as valuable hostages. Your parents are in positions of power, and they are held helpless because they are afraid of us hurting you. But now you must think of your parents as hostages and fear us hurting them. Wonderful, is it not, how we get so much use out of you?”

The silence remained.

“Good,” he said. “Very good that all of you are wise enough not to comment. I expect then that my commands will be obeyed instantly and without question.” He pointed to the open door at the far end of the warehouse. “Follow me. The first one to make any noise will be immediately punished by Stronsky.”

Without looking to see if he was being followed, Dr. Jordan spun on his heels and walked toward the door. Stronsky stepped in behind him.

I rolled into line behind the other robots.

Like the perfect army, we followed.

And that was what was most terrifying of all. For the first time in the history of mankind, we
were
the perfect army.

Undefeatable.

CHAPTER 5

I have never seen a real praying mantis—only a picture of one on the DVD-gigaroms that showed me everything I knew about Earth before I actually got here. In a way, I think our army of robots must have looked like a line of those stick insects. Except, of course, for the lower half, which had an axle that connected two wheels. Turning the robot was simple. If one wheel moved forward while the other moved backward, it could spin instantly.

The robot's upper body, however, did look like a praying mantis. It was sticklike, with a short, thick, hollow pole that stuck upward from the axle. A heavy weight counterbalanced the arms and head. Within this weight was the battery that powered the robot, with wires running up inside the hollow pole to the head parts.

I was familiar with my own robot, the one I had trained with on Mars. I assumed these were based on a nearly identical design, except for the extra two arms that fired the lasers.

I knew that robots were perfect for exploring Mars. But it wasn't until now that I realized robots also made perfect soldiers.

They were strong—their titanium hands could grip a steel bar and bend it.

They were fast—their wheels moved three times faster than any human could sprint.

Bullets wouldn't stop them. Smoke or poison gas wouldn't stop them. Bombs wouldn't kill them. Not with the kids controlling them hundreds or thousands of miles away.

The big question was very simple. What did Dr. Jordan intend to do with this perfect army?

“Into the truck,” Dr. Jordan commanded.

For five minutes we as robots had followed him and Stronsky down a brightly lit corridor. The only noise had been the sound of our wheels squeaking against the floor.

At the end of the corridor Dr. Jordan had pushed a button and a large door had slid open.

It was dark beyond, but after my vision adjusted, I realized it was the inside of a truck trailer, backed up to the warehouse.

“No talking,” he said as we filed past him. “None. Not even a whisper.”

It was an unnecessary warning. I would have guessed that all the kids were thinking about what they had just learned. Their parents were still alive.

Ashley hadn't talked about it much, but it was easy to imagine how often she would have wondered what it might be like to grow up with a real family. I wondered what she was thinking now, knowing her parents were alive. Knowing Ashley and how responsible she felt for this mission, I figured she'd shove that news to the back of her mind until we'd rescued the other kids and stopped Dr. Jordan.

Their parents are still alive.
If these kids did something wrong with their robots, though, their parents might die.

I understood that too. Although my mother was still under the dome on Mars, my father was here on Earth. In a Combat Force prison. Waiting for Ashley and me to rescue him.

I couldn't make mistakes either, or I would lose him, just as surely as if Dr. Jordan had him killed.

I rolled onto the truck with the other robot soldiers.

“Face me,” Dr. Jordan ordered from the inside of the warehouse.

Each of us spun our robot bodies quickly.

“Good, good,” he said. “See what a little incentive will do for you?”

No one answered.

“We're going to shut the trailer door now. Don't worry about getting bored during your trip.” Dr. Jordan took a small remote control out of his pocket. He pressed a button on it and cocked his head as he listened for a beep that told him the signal had been sent successfully.

I wondered where. But when I heard his next words, I understood. It controlled the computers back at the Institute.

“Sleep time, boys and girls,” Dr. Jordan said, “A long sleep. Until the day after tomorrow, which is going to be a big day.”

Sleep time. We knew from Michael and Joey that the computer controlling the life-support system sent sleeping drugs into the kids' bodies through the nutrient tubes hooked up to them. The kids fell asleep instantly in their jelly tubes when the drugs hit. It was like shutting them off. In the morning, different drugs would be pumped in to wake them up. It was sad. The kids controlled machines, and yet their bodies had been turned into machines. Dr. Jordan could make them sleep as long as he wanted, then wake them up at his convenience.

It really made me angry that the kids were so helpless. After all, Dr. Jordan was manipulating them, controlling everything about their lives. Making them prisoners in these jelly tubes. And he was doing it through fear. It wasn't right.

It helped that Ashley and I had at least one secret weapon against Dr. Jordan. Because Ashley and I weren't hooked up to the nutrient tubes, we wouldn't be sleeping.

As the door to the truck trailer began to slide down, Dr. Jordan turned to say something to Stronsky.

I amplified the hearing controls of the robot's audio. Above the suddenly loud squeaking of the closing door, I clearly heard their conversation.