a hole. It tucked its head into the hole, and began wiggling in, snipping through skin cells with the blades. A droplet of blood beaded up on his cheek.
The police cars closed off the access road to the industrial park and set up a security perimeter around the Nanigen building. The vans moved into position, and the hostage rescue squad deployed. The flashers on the police cars played across the metal building.
Dan Watanabe waited behind one of the cars, watching the building’s door. He had made the handoff to the SWAT unit, so he didn’t have operational authority now, but he wanted the op commander, Kevin Hope, to pay attention to him. “Where’s Dorothy?” he said.
“She’s on her way,” Hope answered.
“What about the FD decon unit?”
In answer to his question, a yellow van came roaring in and ground to a halt. A squad of fire department people deployed from it, pulling on Tyvek protective suits. As soon as they’d put on protective gear, they began setting up a decontamination center, with a tent, washing equipment, and a processing line for victims.
“What’s in the building, a virus?” Commander Hope said to Watanabe. He had gotten the call to deploy only twenty minutes earlier, and he didn’t yet know what the investigation involved.
“Not a virus. Bots,” Watanabe said.
“Say again-?”
“Tiny robots. They bite.”
Commander Hope gave him a weird look. “Don’t tell me this is gonna be a shooter with robots, Dan.”
“Not a chance. You can’t hit ’em.”
“Any hostages in there?”
“Not that we know. Can’t assume anything,” Watanabe answered. Somebody handed him a tactical vest, and he put it on. Somebody else brought him a handheld multichannel communicator. He took the device and keyed it on, and said to Commander Hope, “You want me to make the call?”
Hope gave a wry grin. “You talked us into this deployment, Dan. You talk us out of it.”
Watanabe shrugged and referred to a slip of paper upon which he’d written a phone number. He called it.
In the Omicron lab, Eric could feel a half-dozen bots entering his skin, pricking him as they burrowed, while Drake held the gun and light pointed into his eyes. Eric debated which way to go: to force Drake to shoot him in the head, or to wait a few minutes for the bots to open his arteries.
Just then a faint buzzing sounded in Drake’s jacket. He took out his phone and looked at the caller ID. BLOCKED, it told him. He decided to answer it. He took a deep breath to get his heart rate down. “Yes?”
“Vincent Drake?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Dan Watanabe, sir, Honolulu Police. Sir, is there anybody in the building with you?”
“Oh, my goodness, Dan. I’m by myself. Working late. What’s this all about?”
“Sir, we have the building surrounded. Would you please walk out slowly with your hands placed on your head? You will be safe, I promise.”
“Good grief, Dan! There’s obviously been a mistake. I’ll be happy to comply-just give me a moment.”
“Sir, we need you to come out immediately-”
“Certainly. Absolutely.” Drake switched off his phone and advanced toward Eric, his face contorted in fury. “You went to the police.”
Eric shook his head. He was losing a lot of blood. His shirt was darkening in streams, he could feel warmth running down his neck.
Drake leaned over Eric and hauled him to his feet. “You’re just like your fucking brother-sticking your nose into things.” They were eye to eye. “Oops,” Drake said, touching Eric on the cheek. “I think there’s one in your eye.”
Get the controller.
Eric had his left hand on the door handle, behind him, and he pressed it. The door opened, and Eric fell backward into the generator room, with Drake landing on top of him. He reached out with his right hand and felt his fingers close over the controller, and he ripped it out of Drake’s hand as he fell backward.
Drake swore and staggered, sprawling past Eric into the generator room, and he fired the gun. Eric felt the impact in his leg, the bullet passing through his thigh, but oddly he didn’t feel any pain. He was in shock. But he had the controller now, and that was the main thing. He knew what to do with it. He slammed the controller against the floor again and again, smashing it, feeling it break into pieces beneath his hand.
Now nobody could control the bots.
And then, to his surprise, he saw the gun lying on the floor right in front of him, while Drake was getting to his feet. Drake had dropped the gun. Drake and Eric lunged for it simultaneously.
On the floor, Karen and Rick saw the door open, and two gargantuan human figures fell into the room. The gun went off, and the shockwave of the blast rolled over the micro-humans. Moments later the two men fell with a floor-shaking impact, which hurled Rick and Karen into the air. A droplet of blood splashed, exploding into secondary droplets. They picked themselves up and continued to run toward the white circle.
One of the men rolled over on his back. He held the bot controller, and smashed it repeatedly on the floor. It broke apart, and pieces of electronic boards flew past Karen, knocking her to the ground. She saw the gun skidding across the floor toward her, and felt sure it would crush her. She dove away while the two men collided over the gun. A moment later Eric was holding the gun, pointing it at Drake, who was lying on his back.
Eric lay on the floor near Drake. He rolled over and propped himself up, blood running from his leg, and pointed the gun at Drake’s face. “You move…I’ll shoot you in the head.”
Drake said, “Wait, Eric. We can get out. Alive. Together.”
“Not going to happen. You killed my kid brother.” Eric steadied his finger on the trigger.
“But Eric…you’re completely wrong…I did everything to save him.”
“You’re insane.”
Rick and Karen reached the circle. They could hear a deep thrumming sound-the pulse of robot propellers around them. They had lost track of what the big humans were doing. In the center of the circle there was a hatch like a manhole cover, with a sunken handle. Karen and Rick reached the hatch at the same time.
Rick got down on his knees and tugged on the handle.
Nothing happened.
The hatch seemed to be stuck. By now, several bots had converged on them and were hovering aggressively. A bot flew in and jabbed at Karen with its knives. She swung her blade, and, with a clang, knocked the bot away. It fell back.
Karen held up her machete. “Back to back!” she shouted.
Rick Hutter straightened up, and stood with his back to Karen King, his machete drawn. The bots surrounded them, and began darting in, flying and hovering, steel blades snicking. Rick slung a roundhouse blow with his machete and blinded a bot, shearing off its compound eyes. The bot hit the ground, its neck writhing, and it took wing, flying off erratically.
They continued to hack at the bots, but the bots had no fear, no sense of self-preservation. Whirling her machete, Karen said, “Open it. I’ll cover you.”
Rick bent over and tugged on the hatch again, while Karen straddled him, facing the bots, fending them off. But the hatch wouldn’t come up. He began prying at it with the tip of his machete, then tried hacking at it. If he couldn’t open it, he could cut through it. But the blade bounced off the plastic. “I can’t get it open!”
“Listen Rick-ow!” She cried out in pain. A bot had slashed her. She swung her machete over her head. “Try again! Hurry!” She yelled.
That did it. He threw himself on the door, and wrenched it open. Inside was a single red button. He jumped on the button with both feet.
The floor shook. The hexagon began to descend into the floor, until they were swallowed in a hexagonal chamber.
A bot had gotten inside the hexagon with them. It seemed confused. Rick fended it off, banging at it with his machete as it bounced against the chamber walls.
The lights changed color, followed by a humming sound, and then a dreamy feeling came over Rick Hutter
