to go…
The terrain ahead is gray-brown and listless with a wooded area beyond. The sensation of being exposed and out in the open is motivation to keep moving even though I haven’t worked out a plan for when I reach Western Lights. I imagine I’ll stall for as long as possible; the Illuma Corp may not know their man isn’t piloting this thing.
Or will they? Maybe the agents at the hangar made contact with whoever’s in the other robot. That could be disastrous. The coma weapon might be used on me. What then? If I’m the last chance to stop all hell from breaking loose…
Quit making yourself out to be more important than you are—that will get you killed. There. A sobering thought. I have to stay grounded—realistic. I can’t assume or take anything for granted. I can’t ignore my limitations. I’m a nobody behind the controls of a technological nightmare, teetering on the brink of someone’s crazy idea of the future.
My shoulders ache with a faint burn, the constant rowing taking its toll. I still haven’t determined how to operate the arms of the robot and wonder how I’ll do so with two tired arms of my own. Maybe the A.I. will take over like it did before. Maybe if I continue to will things, they’ll happen—this is what I envision as the Balance.
The sight of the privacy wall surrounding Western Lights refreshes my energy. I guide the robot toward the smooth stone of the perimeter, a thin band in the wash of daylight.
The wall becomes more substantial as I near it; it looks about ten to twelve feet high. The machine will scale it with ease. I approach and lift the right leg with a deft poise I didn’t think possible, then drag a clumsy left into the wall with a smack.
Though I can’t see directly below, I picture stone crumbling as the giant staggers. Somehow I maintain balance, allowing the left leg to catch up. Without being able to hear outside, it’s not clear whether I’ve alerted anyone to my presence. Fortunately, the brick townhomes before me aren’t teeming with life.
I maneuver the angular legs of the machine between the homes and then look toward the mini-metropolis at the center of the community. There’s supposed to be both a power and a water treatment plant as well as a business campus; Western Lights is entirely self-sufficient.
With care, I move along what appears to be a main avenue toward the taller structures beyond. It’s as if I’m walking a ghost town, dead to all but a lonely traveler—except it’s more modern, and I’m not a cowboy.
No, I’m the furthest thing from that. The colossal strides of the machine aren’t accompanied by the jingle of spurs, and the shoulder-mounted gun will fire six and then some. There’s no gold star to shine as a badge of honor, only the smudgy black sheen of the armor.
I halt near what look like office buildings, built with endless tinted glass and standing anywhere from five to ten stories tall. According to the map, I’m nearly on top of the other robot. This realization assaults me like a blow to the head and sends me reeling in panic.
I’ve got to figure out how to work the arms—and the weapons. Can the robot run? Jump? What happens if I tip over? There’s no time to figure out all of this; the other machine could appear at any minute. I grasp the control arms with a sweaty grip and wait for the worst.
Tense seconds turn into frustrated minutes when nothing comes. No shaking ground or billowing silhouette against the horizon. My grip becomes slack as does my focus. Adrenaline bleeds away like a sieve and I’m left with the remaining strain of muscle fiber.
I allow one hand to fall from the control arm and into my lap, then the other. The red blip on the map remains stationary. Could the other robot be underground? The map, detailed as it is, doesn’t indicate there are any subterraneous levels.
There has to be Wi-Fi in this thing. I pull up an Internet browser on the main monitor and am rewarded. I search for
The terrain ahead is gray-brown and listless with a wooded area beyond. The sensation of being exposed and out in the open is motivation to keep moving even though I haven’t worked out a plan for when I reach Western Lights. I imagine I’ll stall for as long as possible; the Illuma Corp may not know their man isn’t piloting this thing.
Or will they? Maybe the agents at the hangar made contact with whoever’s in the other robot. That could be disastrous. The coma weapon might be used on me. What then? If I’m the last chance to stop all hell from breaking loose…
Quit making yourself out to be more important than you are—that will get you killed. There. A sobering thought. I have to stay grounded—realistic. I can’t assume or take anything for granted. I can’t ignore my limitations. I’m a nobody behind the controls of a technological nightmare, teetering on the brink of someone’s crazy idea of the future.
My shoulders ache with a faint burn, the constant rowing taking its toll. I still haven’t determined how to operate the arms of the robot and wonder how I’ll do so with two tired arms of my own. Maybe the A.I. will take over like it did before. Maybe if I continue to will things, they’ll happen—this is what I envision as the Balance.
The sight of the privacy wall surrounding Western Lights refreshes my energy. I guide the robot toward the smooth stone of the perimeter, a thin band in the wash of daylight.
The wall becomes more substantial as I near it; it looks about ten to twelve feet high. The machine will scale it with ease. I approach and lift the right leg with a deft poise I didn’t think possible, then drag a clumsy left into the wall with a smack.
Though I can’t see directly below, I picture stone crumbling as the giant staggers. Somehow I maintain balance, allowing the left leg to catch up. Without being able to hear outside, it’s not clear whether I’ve alerted anyone to my presence. Fortunately, the brick townhomes before me aren’t teeming with life.
I maneuver the angular legs of the machine between the homes and then look toward the mini-metropolis at the center of the community. There’s supposed to be both a power and a water treatment plant as well as a business campus; Western Lights is entirely self-sufficient.
With care, I move along what appears to be a main avenue toward the taller structures beyond. It’s as if I’m walking a ghost town, dead to all but a lonely traveler—except it’s more modern, and I’m not a cowboy.
No, I’m the furthest thing from that. The colossal strides of the machine aren’t accompanied by the jingle of spurs, and the shoulder-mounted gun will fire six and then some. There’s no gold star to shine as a badge of honor, only the smudgy black sheen of the armor.
I halt near what look like office buildings, built with endless tinted glass and standing anywhere from five to ten stories tall. According to the map, I’m nearly on top of the other robot. This realization assaults me like a blow to the head and sends me reeling in panic.
I’ve got to figure out how to work the arms—and the weapons. Can the robot run? Jump? What happens if I tip over? There’s no time to figure out all of this; the other machine could appear at any minute. I grasp the control arms with a sweaty grip and wait for the worst.
Tense seconds turn into frustrated minutes when nothing comes. No shaking ground or billowing silhouette against the horizon. My grip becomes slack as does my focus. Adrenaline bleeds away like a sieve and I’m left with the remaining strain of muscle fiber.
I allow one hand to fall from the control arm and into my lap, then the other. The red blip on the map remains stationary. Could the other robot be underground? The map, detailed as it is, doesn’t indicate there are any subterraneous levels.
There has to be Wi-Fi in this thing. I pull up an Internet browser on the main monitor and am rewarded. I search for
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