Read Online Power in the Hands of One by Ian Lewis - Free Book Online
Authors: Ian Lewis
Tags: Science-Fiction
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opportunity to slip aside, just missing the searching grip of the armored digits.
The other robot cannot find me and swings around in a violent twisting motion, desperate to make contact.
Slinking away, I plant delicate steps, fearing the other pilot can somehow hear or feel me stomping away. If I can put enough distance between us, the cloaking ability will be more useful. There’s no way he’ll wander the entire community, groping about.
If I can buy some time, I can figure out a weakness…some way to disable him. He’s more adept at piloting than I, which means I will have limited opportunity.
With careful strides, Attack/Defense Sentinel 02 marches under my command, a ghost in the morning sun.
15
The gray machine is four blocks away—far enough that I can easily maintain a safe distance should it move in my direction. Its manic churning ceased not long after I put myself out of reach. Now it stands facing me, immobile.
Is he tracking me somehow—electronically? How long will the cloaking last? Is the feature dependent upon some energy source? Should I attack the other robot? What’s to stop him from using his cloaking feature?
Uncertainty aside, I’m drawn back to reality with the strain of my bladder. I’ve ignored the need to relieve myself for too long and that need is now unbearable.
I maneuver the robot behind the last of the empty office buildings before toggling the hatch open. The burst of daylight and free air is intimidating at first, considering my view is from a hundred feet up. No matter, my wavering fades as climb up onto the robot’s shoulder and unzip my pants.
Leaning over the edge and trying not to fall, the absurdity of urinating off the back of a giant robot wracks my frame with near-uncontrollable laughter. However, the threat of the other robot rounding the corner is sobering, as is the strange heaviness now seeping into my consciousness.
There’s not one symptom which stands out over another; it’s just a disorienting effect roiling with nausea and a mild headache. The ground seems far way—farther than it really is—and my legs no longer seem trustworthy.
Leaning forward, balance swaying, I break out in cold sweat as darkness pulls at the back of my vision. This sudden sickness…the air…I’m drowning in it. The…the coma weapon, it must be…
I’m ready to perform a lifeless swan dive when a solid gust of wind surges in, giving me rearward momentum. Reaching out behind me, I grasp for anything which might break my fall, having lost nearly all point of reference. I land hard on the edge of the robot’s shoulder next to the open hatch.
With some inexplicable strength of will, I drag myself on my forearms over and into the hatch. Falling, my shoulder breaks my plunge, dragging across the rungs the whole way down. It would be numbing if my senses weren’t already so dulled.
I lay in a heap for an indeterminate amount of time before I’m able to grasp my bearings. My temperature returns to normal and aching fog dissipates from my brain. The coma weapon slipped my mind, but it seems I’m safe as long as I’m in the cockpit.
I’m comforted that the buzzing of the controls is the same as I rise and move back to the command chair. With the flip of the stubby toggle, the hatch seals itself and I am once again the master of my own fate—but this comes with the complexity of not being able to remain outside the robot for more than a minute or two.
There’s truly no escape now. This game will have to end with me at the helm of this monster. Thomas Worthington welcomed this scenario with open arms…even went so far as to program himself into his creation. What did he expect would come of this—that others would be as willing? There’s real power here, power to do awful things.
A furious blinking on the map reins me in again. The other machine is nearing. It must be able to track me after all… Do I shut down all power? No, that can’t work. The cloaking will
The other robot cannot find me and swings around in a violent twisting motion, desperate to make contact.
Slinking away, I plant delicate steps, fearing the other pilot can somehow hear or feel me stomping away. If I can put enough distance between us, the cloaking ability will be more useful. There’s no way he’ll wander the entire community, groping about.
If I can buy some time, I can figure out a weakness…some way to disable him. He’s more adept at piloting than I, which means I will have limited opportunity.
With careful strides, Attack/Defense Sentinel 02 marches under my command, a ghost in the morning sun.
15
The gray machine is four blocks away—far enough that I can easily maintain a safe distance should it move in my direction. Its manic churning ceased not long after I put myself out of reach. Now it stands facing me, immobile.
Is he tracking me somehow—electronically? How long will the cloaking last? Is the feature dependent upon some energy source? Should I attack the other robot? What’s to stop him from using his cloaking feature?
Uncertainty aside, I’m drawn back to reality with the strain of my bladder. I’ve ignored the need to relieve myself for too long and that need is now unbearable.
I maneuver the robot behind the last of the empty office buildings before toggling the hatch open. The burst of daylight and free air is intimidating at first, considering my view is from a hundred feet up. No matter, my wavering fades as climb up onto the robot’s shoulder and unzip my pants.
Leaning over the edge and trying not to fall, the absurdity of urinating off the back of a giant robot wracks my frame with near-uncontrollable laughter. However, the threat of the other robot rounding the corner is sobering, as is the strange heaviness now seeping into my consciousness.
There’s not one symptom which stands out over another; it’s just a disorienting effect roiling with nausea and a mild headache. The ground seems far way—farther than it really is—and my legs no longer seem trustworthy.
Leaning forward, balance swaying, I break out in cold sweat as darkness pulls at the back of my vision. This sudden sickness…the air…I’m drowning in it. The…the coma weapon, it must be…
I’m ready to perform a lifeless swan dive when a solid gust of wind surges in, giving me rearward momentum. Reaching out behind me, I grasp for anything which might break my fall, having lost nearly all point of reference. I land hard on the edge of the robot’s shoulder next to the open hatch.
With some inexplicable strength of will, I drag myself on my forearms over and into the hatch. Falling, my shoulder breaks my plunge, dragging across the rungs the whole way down. It would be numbing if my senses weren’t already so dulled.
I lay in a heap for an indeterminate amount of time before I’m able to grasp my bearings. My temperature returns to normal and aching fog dissipates from my brain. The coma weapon slipped my mind, but it seems I’m safe as long as I’m in the cockpit.
I’m comforted that the buzzing of the controls is the same as I rise and move back to the command chair. With the flip of the stubby toggle, the hatch seals itself and I am once again the master of my own fate—but this comes with the complexity of not being able to remain outside the robot for more than a minute or two.
There’s truly no escape now. This game will have to end with me at the helm of this monster. Thomas Worthington welcomed this scenario with open arms…even went so far as to program himself into his creation. What did he expect would come of this—that others would be as willing? There’s real power here, power to do awful things.
A furious blinking on the map reins me in again. The other machine is nearing. It must be able to track me after all… Do I shut down all power? No, that can’t work. The cloaking will
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