She always strode away regardless of what the machines demanded, giving the nano machines the time they needed to work. Once a walker actually followed her, and she was worried it was going to shoot her down, but then it promptly froze as it rebooted.
Horatio occasionally disabled an unfortunately placed camera with a CommNixer to enable a conversion. Horatio did this by subtly tossing the magnetic disk with his hand, rather than relying upon the more conspicuous pistol.
Rhea paused next to metallic structures now and then, such as benches or lamp posts, to surreptitiously replenish her spent nano machines. Will or one of the other Wardenites often screened her body with their own if there were any cameras around. Upon walking away, she would leave subtle handprints in said metal.
She was careful to move to a different neighborhood after taking a certain number of robots: the city’s AI would be wondering why robots were rebooting with an alarming frequency in a particular neighborhood, and in addition to running diagnostic checks to look for viruses and so forth, it would also start beefing up security. It would also likely lower the transmission lag time for machines in the area… if that happened, and the AI realized a certain black-robed Martian was speaking to the robots right before they rebooted, then anyone wearing a black robe in the neighborhood would be stopped for questioning, and likely forced to reveal their faces, regardless of the legality.
She knew she had converted too many robots in one particular neighborhood when Horatio reported an increase in the number of airborne drones surveilling the skies there. She quickly vacated with her companions, and from that point on, out of an abundance of caution, she started converting only a single robot per neighborhood—she was worried the AI would begin dropping the transmission lag time to zero for a given area the instant even one machine rebooted. She also only chose robots that were positioned perfectly relative to the closest cameras, so that Horatio didn’t have to risk deploying CommNixers.
Thus, it took longer than she had originally anticipated to accumulate her robot army. By midafternoon, as the rendezvous time approached, she reluctantly stopped the process and headed toward the palace with her Wardenites.
“You think we have enough?” Will asked her.
“What we have will have to be,” Rhea replied.
“We could probably spend a few more days doing this,” Will said. “If you think it will help.”
“Not a good idea,” Horatio said. “The longer we delay, the greater our chance of discovery. The AI has recalled at least some of the robots for a physical examination by now. They’ll be opened up… and the AI will realize what we’ve done very soon, if it hasn’t already.”
“Horatio is right,” Rhea said. “We have to make our move now if we want an audience with Khrusos. One that’s not from a jail cell.”
She reached Palace Square close to the appointed time. Though it was essentially a large traffic circle with a fountain in the middle, vehicles and couriers weren’t allowed in the square, so that left out most cars and other delivery robots. But there were a few cyborg and human pedestrians, probably tourists, given their builds—which were more muscular than the typical Martian.
The fountain at the center of the square had a statue depicting the Paramount Leader. It towered into the air, dwarfing smaller statues of mermaids. Water spouted from the mouths and tails of the latter.
“Well, the Paramount Leader certainly is fond of himself,” Brinks said.
“Honestly, given what I’ve heard, I was expecting a statue of Khrusos,” Renaldo commented.
“He likes to share the limelight, apparently,” Will said.
“Or maybe he’s just happy being the puppet master,” Rhea told him.
“Much like you, Warden?” Miles asked.
She glanced at him and arched an eyebrow.
“Your robot army…” Miles clarified.
She nodded. “I understood the reference. I’m just wondering what I owe your recent insolence to. It seems you’ve been upset with me for a while now.”
Miles lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been… stressed.”
She decided to accept that answer, for now. He had reason to be stressed, considering they were all about to risk their lives.
They proceeded to cross the cobblestoned square. Among passersby, no one else wore black robes here, which made Rhea feel a tad conspicuous. If the main AI was watching for citizens clad in black robes, courtesy of Rhea’s little reboot experiments, it certainly wouldn’t let the lot of them approach the Presidential Palace.
But no machines intervened.
Ahead, the ribbed iron wall that surrounded the palace thrust from the ground, towering into the sky. Wicked turrets protruded at regular intervals atop the structure, and scanned the square below, as if ready to atomize aggressors. Beyond the turrets, armed drones circled in holding patterns.
Poking up from beyond the wall were the spires of the Presidential Palace. Tall, lithe things covered in iridescent tiles that glinted in the sun.
She focused her gaze directly ahead, toward the main gate—a chain link fence set amid the wall. The gate was big enough to allow vehicle traffic in two directions, and in fact, Rhea could see two distinct lanes demarcated on the palace grounds beyond.
The fence was currently closed, with two large walkers standing guard on either side. These intimidating war machines had multiple turrets projecting from either side of their torsos. They were essentially gunships with legs.
“Has anyone else ever noticed these Martian walkers look like chickens?” Brinks asked.
“Ostriches,” Will replied. “They look like ostriches.”
“Somehow, making fun of them doesn’t make them any less forbidding,” Renaldo said.
“No, it doesn’t.” Will glanced at Rhea. “You know, I’m going to be glad when this is finally over.”
“It’ll be over, one way or another,” Rhea agreed, her voice grim.
They loitered in the square not far from the walkers, and pretended to be admiring the fountain; they were careful to keep their faces angled away from any cameras, including those that might reside in the observing robots nearby, or the AR goggles of tourists.
At the designated time, Burhawk and Min
