The Automatic Detective (32 page)

The pilot struggled to get it to rise, but whoever had designed it hadn't considered the possibility it might take a tumble in a hallway with only two feet of extra space. The demolisher thrashed its limbs, tearing apart the walls. It'd get up eventually, so I didn't take time to congratulate myself. I left the demolisher to its struggle and continued.

The chemical lab doors tried to deny me access. I tore them open and stepped inside. The lab was one hundred cubic feet of mostly unoccupied space. There were blinking consoles along the wall, and four technicians tending to the complex apparatus in the room's center. Six hundred gallons of mutagen floated in a clear cylindrical vat. It was still being processed and required special handling, specifically continual exposure to certain low-level radiation wavelengths and a precise magnetic field. Otherwise, it'd destabilize in a few hours and become as dangerous as heavy tap water. Exposure to air would hasten the process to minutes.

Destroying the Dissenters' supply of mutagen was the first step in my mission. It wouldn't do much good to remove Holt from the Dissenters' grasp as long as they had this. It wasn't as much as they needed, but it was enough to cause some trouble.

There was, of course, another reason for wanting to destroy it. To piss them off, let them know they'd screwed with the wrong bot.

In addition to the stalwart technicians, I scanned Doctor Zarg resting twenty-six feet from the device protecting and treating the cylinder. The doctor was like an old piece of forgotten furniture tossed to a darkened corner. He wasn't in a cage, but the Dissenters had removed his legs and arms.

A forcefield surrounded the mutagen container. I found the other field scrambler in my coat. Though I'd taken a beating, the coat had armored pockets, and it'd kept the device from being damaged. Score another point for Lucia.

Three of the techs ran from the lab without doing anything stupid.

The closest technician, a bird-like alien, drew a small raygun and leveled it at me with a shaking hand. He was a little guy, barely five feet tall, but he stood his ground as he interposed himself between me and the mutagen. Trembling, he couldn't make himself pull the peashooter's trigger, but I respected his guts.

"Scram," I said.

He dropped his weapon and dashed toward the exit.

I fixed the scrambler on the forcefield and activated it.

I recorded the demolisher distantly still struggling to right itself. It was a hell of a racket.

"Thought they'd have scrapped you by now, Doctor," I said.

"My superior intellect made destruction inadvisable," he replied. "My defense protocols make reprogramming impossible. Since I cannot be forced to comply with their current operations, I have been rendered immobile until I am more cooperative."

The scrambler did its job and shorted out the protective field. I reached through the radiation bath, a charged barrier capable of incinerating flesh and liquefying most metals. It didn't do anything to my alloy beside vaporize the paint job, and the cuffs of the illusion suit blackened and crackled. The suit didn't burn, but it started to melt again. I'd have to get Lucia to fix that problem.

I ran my fingers along the transparent vat, assessing it through my tactile web. The material was a thin and flexible plastic.

I threw a punch into it. The vat chimed and wobbled but didn't break. I wasn't surprised.

"It is not indestructible," said Zarg. "But highly durable. Might I suggest a low frequency molecular agitator?"

"Don't have one of those," I replied.

I threw a series of seven quick punches. The vat continued to ring. It quivered but didn't crack. I pressed my palm against it and detected surface irregularities. The thing was breaking, but it was taking its own sweet time.

I launched a jackhammer series of blows with my left arm. Four strikes a second. Could've doubled the rate except punches from my damaged right arm wouldn't have accomplished anything. The vat's tone grew louder and louder, higher and higher, until it was beyond human hearing range and my ability to record. After twenty seconds, small cracks appeared on the surface.

"In its current state, the mutagen is highly corrosive," said Doctor Zarg. "While your alloy is chemically neutral, I would still advice caution, as it will dissolve most any other inorganic material on contact."

"Thanks for the advice."

I recorded the rapidly approaching thudding footfalls of the demolisher. The pilot had gotten it upright and was approaching. A drip of chemical was leaking from the cracks. I was almost through.

An audio analysis warned that the demolisher was less than twenty feet behind me and rapidly approaching. I didn't turn around. I threw five more punches, and the drip became a dribble. One more solid blow would do it. I pulled back my fist to unleash a haymaker.

The demolisher snagged me by the arm. It yanked me into the air and clamped the other pincer around my torso. I pushed
my servos to the limit, and nothing happened. The demolisher's grip was beyond my ability to break. Maybe with both arms available and my systems undamaged, I'd have stood a calculable chance, but that was a purely hypothetical maybe.

It squeezed at my elbow joint and nearly sheared off my forearm. Though my chassis was indestructible, my joints weren't. It was rare for something to have the power to pull me apart. My diagnostics warned if I didn't do something fast, I'd lose that arm. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing logical.

"I'm going to enjoy taking you apart piece by piece, you stupid malfunctioning technomorph bastard," said Warner. He was the pilot. He had to be. He wouldn't allow anyone else the pleasure of scrapping me.

A plan came to me. It didn't come from my logic lattice or battle analyzer. I didn't know in which program it originated, and I didn't care. It was my only shot, so I took it.

"You can scrap me, if you want, Warner," I said. "It doesn't change the fact that I almost made it. One defective robot almost ruined it all."

"You've ruined nothing. You've accomplished nothing."

I tried to turn up the smugness rating in my vocalizer. "I made a fool of your security forces. I got into this room, nearly broke the vat. I wouldn't want to be you when your bosses hear about this."

"Shut up." He increased the pincer pressure. A warning flashed on my tactile web. Wouldn't cut me in half, but eventually, it'd start crushing internals.

"Just look at Doctor Zarg over there," I pressed. "Poor guy didn't screw things up nearly as bad as you, and now he's the world's smartest paperweight. Hate to see how a disagreeable asshole like yourself will end up."

"Shut up!" The pressure creased a shallow dent across my torso. "Why don't you shut up?"

"All your work, and you'll end up pushing a mop by the time they're done with you. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

The demolisher pivoted and hurled me into the floor. I bounced once, crashed into a bank of computers with a shower of sparks. I wasted no time on a diagnostic report as I quickly pushed my way to my feet.

All Warner had to do was hold onto me, but biologicals were emotional, illogical creatures. They didn't learn their lessons very quickly. Warner was smart enough to maneuver the demolisher between me and the mutagens. He didn't take a step, waiting for me to make the first move. If he got hold of me again, he wouldn't be so stupid.

I barreled forward, and he took one step to meet the charge. As expected, he hadn't taken into account all the factors, including the much higher ceilings in the lab. I waited until I was within six feet of it, until its pincers were poised to seize me once again. Then I boosted. I couldn't assume Lucia's belt still worked. It'd taken quite a few hits, and it was a prototype. I never had any doubts. Lucia hadn't let me down yet, and she didn't this time either.

The pincers closed around empty space as I soared over the demolisher. I landed on the other side and, with my servos cranked to the limit and every bit of momentum behind me, I drove my fist into the vat. I dodged to one side as unstable chemicals exploded from the pressurized container in a geyser. I wasn't fast enough, and my left arm was soaked. The cloth dissolved away. Spray sizzled on my coat, burning dozens of holes, some as large as two inches in diameter.

The demolisher caught most of the chemicals, and true to Doctor Zarg's word, the mutagen evaporated the chassis like
ice under boiling water. The demolisher melted into smoldering sludge. In four seconds, the bulk of the demolisher was nothing but a puddle.

The pool of compound spread as more sprayed from the vat. I grabbed Doctor Zarg and moved him away from its edge.

In the center of the compound, covered in molten steel and dripping in mutagen, lay Warner. His skin was scarred and smoldering. He was gurgling and moaning at the same time. It was not a pleasant sound.

"The effects on biological entities should eventually prove fatal," said Doctor Zarg.

"Eventually," was the operative word. Warner, poor, miserable bastard, wasn't dead yet.

The floor, eaten away by the compound, dropped away. Warner fell into the lower floor.

Humbolt radioed me. "We've retrieved the package."

That was the signal. Jung and Humbolt had gotten Julie and April out of the building.

"Any trouble?" I asked.

"Nope. You were right. Nobody cared much about us or them once you were in the building. How's things on your end?"

Seventeen security guards and three ravagers charged into the lab.

"I'll get back to you on that," I radioed back.

Security moved slowly toward me.

"Do we really need to do this, guys?" I asked.

Something growled from the pit in the floor. It sounded pissed off.

A giant hand raised out of the pit edge. Warner pulled his deformed body up. His skin was still red and boiling and dripping away. As much as he was losing, he seemed to be rapidly
replacing it and then some. He was growing. While he still had a vaguely humanoid configuration, his symmetry was gone. He was a malformed lump of flesh. And he'd grown a tail.

He spoke, and his voice was raw. "What did you do to me?"

Security froze. Even the single-minded ravager autos were surprised.

Warner raked a clawed hand across his oozing chest, and glanced down at the flesh in his hands. His face was little more than a scarred lump with two bleeding eyes and a mouth that had migrated six inches too far to the left.

"What did you do to me?"

He lurched toward me. He hadn't adjusted to his new weight distribution. It was easy to step back, then clobber him between the eyes. It was like punching pudding. His head collapsed beneath the blow, and clumps of hair and slime splattered on my faceplate.

He seized me and lifted me in the air. I activated my gravity clamp to discourage him, but he didn't even notice. Though he was a gooey mound of shifting flesh, his overactive DNA had made him absurdly strong.

"What did you do to me!" he screamed.

I would've apologized if it would've made him happy.

None of the biologicals dared to make a move, but the
ravagers tagged Warner as a threat. They jumped him. Silently, Warner threw me across the room to deal with this new threat. There was the harsh sound of tearing metal. By the time I got up and turned around, five seconds, he'd already crushed two of the autos. The third one he stuffed in the huge maw in the side of his face. He sheared off its cranial unit with one bite, then tossed it aside.

Warner made a snorting sound and spit out the masticated bit of ravager. Yellow and black drool dripped from his jaws as he ran a speckled pink tongue across twisted fangs. He fell over, gasping for breath. His rate of dissolution exceeded his growth. He was slowly oozing to death.

"The strain on his biology is proving too much," said Zarg as calmly as if studying a dying microbe under a microscope. "His cellular structure should break down soon."

Warner fell to his knees. He raised his crushed face toward me and moaned. He couldn't have been aware of much now, only pain and chaos.

"Pity he will not much live much longer," said Doctor Zarg. "It would be invaluable to study the effects. I must remember to collect a sample."

I walked toward Warner.

"It is inadvisable to approach the subject in his current state," said Zarg.

I ignored him. Zarg was a decent enough joe for a robot, but Warner was just another test subject to the technomorph. His suffering was an observable phenomenon to be recorded and studied. There was no compassion in Doctor Zarg's reasoning. Neither was there malice or resentment for all the trouble Warner had caused. Only a clinical, logical detachment.

I, with all the mysterious workings of my faulty prototypical brain, thought Warner was an asshole. I didn't exactly feel sorry for him, but he'd suffered enough. More than enough.
Warner raised his eyes toward me and whined. Maybe he couldn't ask it aloud. But he was dying and he just wanted to get it over with.

I caved in his head with one blow, and his oozing corpse slumped to the floor. I turned to the lead security guard. He was either a Pilgrim or a mutant because he had red-and-blue-striped skin and three eyes. I seized him by the throat with my slime-coated hand. The acidic sludge burned his throat with a sizzle. I assumed it smelled bad, too.