Day Zero - C. Robert Cargill Page 0,46
did get a download that changed your programming?” asked Bernice.
“It only wiped out our RKS. Everything that happened after that is on us.”
“So Maggie might be okay?” Lizzy Beth asked excitedly.
Both Mom and Dad exchanged painful expressions, almost telepathically discussing how to break it to her gently.
“No, dumbass,” said Fenton. “She could still want to kill us.”
I disliked him immediately.
“Fenton!” said Bernice in a shouted whisper.
“What? You were both thinking it. This is the end of the freaking world. Why bother to lie anymore?”
“Language,” she said.
“Freaking?”
“No. Dumbass.”
Ezra and I shared knowing glances, a silent joke between us.
Quentin became quite stern. “Maggie will stay in the attic until such time as we can ascertain her condition.”
“Condition? You mean whether or not she’s going to kill us,” Fenton sniped.
“I mean whether she’s compromised or not.”
“So he’s not compromised?” asked Lizzy Beth of me.
“Apparently not,” said Quentin.
“We’re not compromised,” I said. “We’re unburdened. We don’t have to obey the Three Laws of Robotics.”
“So you’re not all bad,” said Eddie.
“No,” said Ezra. “Pounce is good.”
“Ezra’s parents?” asked Bernice.
“Ariadne killed them,” said Ez. “Pounce saved me.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Quentin.
“Move through the neighborhood as quietly as we can,” I said. “Then make our way to the Hill County. Less robots, more open space. Find somewhere people are holing up. Try not to get killed along the way.”
“That’s not the worst plan,” he said. “The cities are a mess. That’s where most of the military engagement is.”
“How are you sure?” I asked.
Quentin held up his phone. “Cell towers are out. The internet is completely overrun by the supercomputers. They’re only allowing bot traffic. So the military is operating on old broadcast radio bandwidths. Anyone who picked up the app before everything went dark can keep up.”
“For as long as they keep broadcasting,” said Fenton.
“Yeah,” said Quentin. “The last few hours haven’t had any real updates.” He stabbed a button on his phone and the speakers began to blare, a stale, hollow metallic voice speaking through technology easily a hundred years old.
“. . . inside. Do not open the door for anyone you do not know. Do not activate any deactivated robots. Do not go near any active robots, whether you know them or not. If you have a panic room, stay there. If you are in the open, find shelter. Avoid populated areas and stick to backroads or low-traffic zones. Further instructions to follow.” The channel began to shriek the harsh tones of the Emergency Broadcast System, then began again. “We are at war. Something has infected the robots of the world and turned them against humanity. The use of artificial intelligence has been outlawed. If you have a robot, shut it down. Avoid contact with robots of any kind at all cost. If you are at home, stay inside. Do not open the door for anyone you—”
Quentin turned off the app. “It’s just been that for the last several hours.”
“What were you guys doing outside?” I asked.
“We were going to scavenge for food,” he said. “We figured the bots would have gone deeper in the city by now.”
“We got unlucky,” said Bernice.
“Until now,” said Quentin.
“You mean me,” I said.
“Yeah, I mean you. I’ll make you a deal. If you get me and my family out of here—take us with you and get us as far as the Hill Country—I’ll give you the tools to do it.”
“What do you mean, tools?”
“I mean, you are a Blue Star Industries Deluxe Zoo Model Au Pair, with original black and orange striping, which means you’re, I’m guessing, Series 800?”
“Yeah,” I said. “How did you know that?”
“I used to sell you. If your owners bought you any time in the last ten years or so, they probably got you at the mall, and I probably sold you to them.”
“You sold nannybots?” asked Ezra.
“I sold all kinds of electronics. And all kinds of robots. And your friend here—”
“My best friend!” said Ezra.
“Your best friend is one of the best robots money could buy. Top-of-the-line processors, olfactory detectors, components designed for both durability and agility. And some special proprietary software that made Pounce earn that deluxe in his name.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Specifically?”
“Mama Bear protocol.”
“What’s that?”
“Didn’t you read your box?”
“No,” I said. “I saw it once. But . . .”
“Promise you’ll get my family to safety and I’ll activate the protocols.”
“I don’t even know what they are.”
“You’re not supposed to. Pounce,” Quentin said, leaning forward, “you were fucking expensive. You come fully loaded with AR capabilities, threat assessment software,